


Ink Stains and Flower Petals

by OfficialStarsandGutters



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Dream Pack (Raven Cycle), Joseph Kavinsky is His Own Warning, M/M, One-Sided Joseph Kavinsky/Ronan Lynch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:35:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 44,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28798485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfficialStarsandGutters/pseuds/OfficialStarsandGutters
Summary: Tattoo Parlour/Flowershop AU.Content warnings in chapter notes.-“There’s a language to flowers, right?”“Uh. Yeah.”“How do I say fuck off in them?”“Excuse me?” Adam tilts the right side of his head towards Ronan, wondering if he just misheard.“Fuck off. But with flowers.”“Oh. That is what you said.”“Yes.”
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 74
Kudos: 277





	1. Meet Ugly

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a quick one shot as a break from a long fic I’m writing, but it ended up being longer than the fic I’m breaking from. Whoops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning:  
> Alcohol and drug use  
> Non consensual touch (not explicitly sexual)  
> Blasphemy

It’s a dreary day. Grey and drizzling. Ronan grins as he opens the kitchen blinds. He loves days like this. Thick mist, light rain, the chill of winter trying to cling on with frosty fingers as the days slide towards spring. The kind of day that is happy and sad at the same time. 

Chainsaw caws miserably as she almost flies into the window. She shuffles along the windowsill, fluffing up her wings, and settles a beady eyed gaze on Ronan.

“Krawww,” she says.

“Maybe if you didn’t come begging every morning, you wouldn’t have embarrassed yourself.”

Chainsaw makes a sound closer to growl than caw, and pecks the window frame hard.

“Stop that.” Ronan flaps a hand at her. She nips the soft flesh low on his index finger. “You’re such a little shit sometimes.”

Despite his words, Ronan gets out one of the snack packs of crackers he buys solely for Chainsaw, and lets her eat from his hand. He strokes a finger along her head feathers and she puffs up proudly at the attention.

He had found her a year back; an ugly featherless thing stranded on the pavement. Ronan’s sure there’s something about not lifting baby birds because their parents will kill them if they’re sullied by alien hands, but there had been no nest in sight, and he’d never been one for rules. He’d stowed her in his hoody pocket, spent hours Googling bird care, and somehow managed to keep her alive until she actually resembled a bird.

Then, he’d let her go.

And she’d come back. Constantly.

“Kerah!”

“You’re the bane of my existence,” Ronan says, but it sounds like affection even to him.

*

Chainsaw sits on his shoulder as he grabs his keys and locks up the house. She plays with the piercing in the top of his ear as he walks to his car.

“Alright, menace. I’ve got to go to work now.”

“Krrr.”

“Go.” Ronan shuffles his shoulder beneath her, and with a sorrowful wail she takes off. “Drama queen.”

He starts the car, turns his music loud enough to rattle the interior, and shoots down the laneway. 

Ronan slows as he approaches _Dreamer’s Ink_ , glancing at the building beside it. It’s been standing dark and empty for the last two months, but there’s a light on today, and the shape of someone painting the walls. He sucks his top teeth, briefly wondering who’s unlucky enough to be their new neighbour, before he swerves sharply into the small car park on the other side. 

Jiang is behind the counter when he comes in. His hair is tied up in a sleek bun, his reusable coffee cup propped on the counter beside the appointments book. He’d look too well put together to work here if it weren’t for the ink covering his arms and neck. 

“Mornin’,” Jiang says. Ronan ignores him and heads back to his room. He hears Jiang’s sarcastic “nice to see you too” behind him.

Kavinsky is stretched on Ronan’s chair, but sitting in it upside down. He’s flicking through his phone, and has his legs draped over the arms, leaving them spread obscenely wide. Ronan closes his eyes briefly and asks God for either patience or a really good lawyer.

“The fuck are you doing?”

“Lynch!” Kavinsky grins. “You’re late.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re two minutes late.”

“Fuck off. I don’t have any appointments this morning anyway.”

“Incorrectomundo, mofo. I’m your opening act.”

Ronan closes his eyes again, but the bright fire of his anger doesn’t dim any. Kavinsky is constantly showing up in his chair, demanding tattoos in more and more intimate places. He watches Ronan with hungry eyes as he works, makes inappropriate sounds, is generally a giant pain in the ass.

“You can’t just give yourself my appointments,” Ronan says after a moment, once he’s swallowed all the much sharper words he wants to say. 

“Course I can. My shop, my rules.”

“You have four other artists you can torment.”

“And I do. But right now I want you, macaroni.”

“Don’t,” Ronan presses a palm to Kavinsky’s forehead and forces his head down against the bench. “Call me that.”

“Oh, I love it when we play rough. What would you prefer. Daddy?” 

Ronan makes a noise of disgust as he starts to set up his inks.

“Do you actually have a design, or-?” 

“Yours.” Kavinsky holds up a stencil he has prepared. It’s from one of Ronan’s flash sheets, a black feather; long, with a subtle, delicate curve. Kavinsky shoves his waistband beneath his hips. “I’m thinking here. A little reminder of you.”

The implication of the placement with those words is not lost on Ronan, but he pretends it is. He feels a sour twist in his gut. The feather’s a reminder of Chainsaw, and he doesn’t really _want_ Kavinsky to have it. The image itself isn’t particularly unique, but it’s his, and it’s imbued with the meaning he gave it, and he hates Kavinsky for taking that from him. 

“We could do something more interesting.”

“This is what I want, Lynch.” Kavinsky sing songs the words, barely veiled threat. Ronan grits his teeth. 

“You actually gonna sit in the fuckin chair?”

Kavinsky grins at that, because he knows he’s won, and Ronan wants to punch him. Instead he pulls on his gloves. Let’s the snap of the elastic against his wrist bone be the outlet of his violence as Kavinsky shuffles around in his chair, trainers scuffing against the leather. 

“I need to put the film on before we start.”

“Ugh. Boring.” Kavinsky stands as Ronan puts cling film over the chair to protect it from the blood. Ronan feels the weight of his gaze on the back of his neck. When he glances up, Kavinsky meets his gaze and slowly pushes his waistband far enough down that the top of his pubes are visible, coming together into the line of his happy trail, leading to his belly button like an upside down exclamation mark. 

Ronan stares darkly at him. He raises a brow. Kavinsky answers the silent question by climbing back on the chair and stretching out on his right side. Ronan presses the stencil in place over his left hip. 

“That positioning good?” He asks when he peels the transfer paper away.

“I trust your judgement. If I hate it I’ll just pierce your balls later.” 

Ronan is glad he chose the hip. All those little detail lines of the feather hairs are going to sting like hell over the curve of bone. His gun buzzes to life as he shifts his chair closer and starts to draw over the stencil. His brows furrow in concentration. Kavinsky moans at the first touch. Ronan ignores him.

Ronan has money. He has enough money that, unless he were to be completely careless, he wouldn’t have to work a day in his life. He has a home. He doesn’t need this job. 

He wants it, though. There’s something about drawing that captivates him in a way nothing else has managed to. That he can create images in his head and pour a little bit of his internal world onto the page. It’s never perfect, never quite there, and while that’s frustrating it also keeps him coming back, keeps him trying to best himself.

He’d started tattooing himself at thirteen. Stick and pokes. Clumsy, ugly little things. He’s covered most of them with better work now, but there’s a few he’s kept to remind himself. The shamrock on the side of his left middle finger. The little scythe above his right ankle. The small Latin print or _IN SOMNIS VERITAS_ on his left wrist. 

There is something so contradictory about tattoos as an art form. A piece each person carries with them, but permanent only within their lifespan. Buried with them when they die. His work would never hang in museums or be dictated in history books, but to each person he touched ink to skin, it would mean more than the great artists mean to the world.

Ronan doesn’t want to give this up. He’s given up so many things in his life, and he’s had so many taken from him. His parents are dead. His brothers have lives apart from him. His friends have gone and he’s left behind, alone, pacing a house full of cherished memories that now slice him like papercuts. Work is his one little bubble of escape.

It also stops Declan’s fussing of _you need SOMETHING, Ronan_ that he’d suffered the first year after he left school. He did have something. He was fixing up the Barns. Bringing it back to old glory. Feeding the scattering of livestock left behind. Declan didn’t think that was enough.

So he puts up with Kavinsky’s innuendos and grabby hands. Puts up with his pack of dogs and their loud raucousness and shitty work etiquette. In the end it’s all background noise, and when he gets to slip into his work, his mind turns the volume down until it’s incoherent. 

It’s happening now, until Kavinsky flicks him in the forehead.

“Fuck off,” Ronan says, automatic, teeth bared.

“You didn’t answer me, asshole.”

“What?”

“House party. Saturday. Gonna get messy.”

Ronan does not know what response Kavinsky is expecting. He gets none.

“That includes you,” Kavinsky says.

“No.”

“Yes. Work outing.”

“Fuck no.”

“C’mon Lynch. You’ve avoided our last two parties.”

“There is no avoid. I don’t want to come. I don’t.”

“So uptight.” Kavinsky’s hands are on his shoulders, kneading the hard knots of his muscles. Ronan only tenses further beneath his bony fingers. “I have good shit. It’ll relax you.”

“I said no.”

“I heard, but I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Ronan presses the gun particularly hard right on the curve of Kavinsky’s hipbone. He hisses, hand clenching in the material of Ronan’s jacket. 

“You know, you and me, we could work out a way to let that tension out,” Kavinsky says. He draws his tongue along his top teeth. Ronan’s eyes follow the movement before dropping back to his work. 

“Can’t Proko help you with that?” 

“Proko and I just fuck around. We all fuck around sometimes. You should join.” 

“Pass.”

“Is it the polygamy that bothers you? ‘Cause I can drop the others, babe. You just gotta ask nicely like a good boy.”

Ronan’s stomach coils. He hates that it’s only half disgust. Kavinsky’s fingers are on his head now, tracing the Celtic patterns beneath the stubble of his shaved hair. The touch is soft, soothing, and a part of Ronan _aches_ because he hasn’t been touched like that since his mother was alive.

“Cut it out. You’re distracting me. I’m gonna fuck this up.”

“No you’re not. You never do.” 

Ronan grunts instead of wasting more words. Kavinsky seems content to let him work in peace for a while, just scrolling his phone and making lewd sounds of maybe pain, maybe pleasure sometimes. When Ronan’s done with the outline, Swan comes in.

“What do we have here then?” Swan stops behind him to look over his shoulder.

Ronan thinks his hatred for them is instinctive. Swan spent their youth studying in England, picked up an accent during that time. Ronan blames the Northern Irish blood in him for the surge of irritation when they speak, because otherwise Swan is one of the more bearable of the pack.

Jiang is the easiest to deal with. Swan and Skovron swing in at joint second, since they usually come as a unit. Prokopenko is _way_ down the line from them, and Kavinsky, who writhes and whimpers for show when Swan enters, is dead last.

“Pretty,” they say when Ronan gives no answer. 

“Isn’t it?” Kavinsky props up on his elbows. 

“Nice placement. These delicate detail lines are going to look gorgeous,” Swan says. Ronan doesn’t take any pride from the compliment. Other people’s opinions rarely matter to him, and the people’s who do are far from here. “Can mouth along this like a guiding path.”

Swan’s fingers trace the curve beside the feather. Ronan makes an annoyed noise as Kavinsky wriggles his hips in response.

“Lynch’s coming out partying with us this weekend,” he says.

“I’m not.”

“Oh, do! You always miss the fun,” Swan says.

“Not miss. Avoid.”

“Did you guys say Lynch is coming out?” Another voice joins them as Skov enters the room. It is beginning to feel far too crowded and far too loud for Ronan’s comfort.

“No.”

“Oh. Still in the closet, then.” Skov laughs as he wraps his arms around Swan’s waist and pulls them flush against his front. Swan tilts their head back with a grin and Ronan can hear them kissing without seeing them. What he can see from his peripheral is Skov’s fingers against Swan’s stomach under their crop top. He stares for a moment, transfixed by the beauty of their contrasting skin tones, before he tears his gaze back to Kavinsky’s hip. 

“Fuck off,” he says. Kavinsky is looking at him knowingly. Ronan doesn’t know what it is he supposedly knows. 

“You should,” Skov says. He’s got a New Jersey accent. Ronan likes it a lot more than Swan’s posh prick accent. “It’ll be fun.”

“Lots of fun,” Swan says, in between mouthing at Skov’s jaw. Ronan resists the urge to gag. He notices the slight bulge of Kavinsky’s hardening dick and wants to press his gun against it until Kavinsky screams. 

“If you’re going to fuck can you do it in your own room?” His words are clipped. He ignores the heat at the tips of his ears.

“But I’m enjoying the show,” Kavinsky says. Skov and Swan smile and come forward. Skov kisses Kavinsky, slick and wet, while Swan nips at his jaw.

“I’m going to stop,” Ronan threatens. “Either they leave, or I do.”

“Spoilsport,” Kavinsky says. His voice is thick with fresh arousal.

“To be continued,” Swan says, and they smooth back a stray strand of his hair before stepping towards the door. Skov catches them around the waist again and carries them, giggling, out of the room. 

“You don’t have to act like such a virgin,” Kavinsky says. Ronan scowls. He does not dignify that with a response. Even if it is true.

*

Ronan volunteers to do a coffee run after he’s done with Kavinsky. He hates doing the coffee run, but he needs a breather from them all after a morning spent in close contact with K. Jiang slips him a sticky note with their drink orders because he knows Ronan can never remember them. Ronan gives him a silent nod of thanks.

He’s in just before the lunch rush, so there’s only a modest line in front of him. Ronan takes out his phone. Flicks through photos of tall trees from Gansey. Sargent looks even more minuscule among the nature giants. Ronan smiles at that. Then catches himself and shakes it away. There’s also a message from Declan checking he’s still alive. Ronan thinks his middle finger emoji is a concise enough reply.

He tucks his phone away and steps up to the counter, silently offering the list to the barista. It’s easier than trying to read them off. He doesn’t order anything for himself. Coffee is bitter and tastes like shit; he can get his caffeine hit quicker from energy drinks. He likes tea, but only how his parents used to make it. It’s never the same from anywhere else.

“Uh.” The teenage barista blinks at Ronan. Ronan scowls at him. “Right, okay.”

He fumbles to type in the order from the sheet, then tells Ronan the amount. Ronan pays.

“Do you want your list back?”

Ronan is already walking down to the end of the counter to wait. 

“Wow, rude,” someone says. Ronan glares back over his shoulder and is met with a reprimanding stare from a dusty haired man with delicate features. Ronan scoffs and rolls his eyes, and screams an internal prayer up to heaven that the flush he can feel isn’t showing on his skin.

He folds his arms and leans against the wall by the end of the counter. Affects the appearance of casual disinterest, but from the side of his eye he watches the man that was behind him. He’s lanky in an awkward way, like he hasn’t quite filled out his height properly. He’s got soft fair lashes over pretty blue eyes, several shades deeper than Ronan’s. Ocean blue. The kind of rolling deep blue you get on a day like this. A happy and sad blue.

Ronan looks away sharply. He realises he’s been holding his breath, and then has to go about focusing on taking slow, steady breaths so he doesn’t seem breathless. He dares a glance back, and sees the man taking out his wallet. Long, delicate fingers fish a ten out. His thumb juts out from his hand, like perhaps it was broken a long time ago. There’s a smear of paint over his wrist bone. Even from here Ronan can see the spider web of blue veins, tendons shifting beneath the skin as the man’s fingers move. He wants a closer look, but he doesn’t dare. Snaps his eyes away as the man returns his wallet to his pocket.

He comes down the counter and stands a meter away from Ronan. He crosses his arms across his ribs, mirroring Ronan, though his stance is looser. He is not all coiled tension and self defence the way Ronan is. He’s self confident and righteously annoyed.

“You shouldn’t be so rude to service workers. He’s just doing his job.”

Ronan has an excuse to look at his face now. Sharp cheekbones. Long, thin nose. Deep set eyes. His skin has a healthy tan that Ronan’s quietly jealous of. The best a summer of working the Barns could give him was a farmers tan; more red than brown. The man’s mouth is turned down in a frown, but Ronan still thinks his chapped lips look quite kissable.

This might be the closest he’s come to a gay panic.

“What, you can’t speak? Oh. Gosh, wait, can’t you speak?” The man’s confidence wavers slightly and Ronan snorts.

“I can talk. I just don’t like to waste words.”

“Oh.” His expression darkens again and Ronan almost regrets his words. “Then you’ve no excuse.”

“Right. Thank you _so_ much for the life lesson.” He sculpts his face into a well practised _fuck you_ expression, even while his mind desperately thinks _fuck me_. 

The man exhales an angry rush of air, but seems to write Ronan off as a lost cause, because he takes another half step back and turns his gaze away. Ronan gets a view of the long stretch of his neck and his heartbeat picks up a notch.

He’s glad when his order is ready because he did not sign up to be in a fucking cheesy movie today, and he needs to get away from this man and these bullshit feelings. He grabs the tray and stomps out of the coffee shop. The rain has let up. The day is just gray and hazy now. Ronan sighs and shifts the tray in his arm, wanting another few stolen moments before he has to go back to the pack.

The bell above the door tinkles as the man steps out after him. He glances at Ronan, frowns, makes a “hmph” sound, and turns to stride briskly away. Ronan rolls his eyes, but follows after him at a slower pace.

He pauses when the man walks into the building beside Dreamer’s Ink. Fucking of course.

*

Adam Parrish steps into his shop and sighs. He reaches up and ruffles the damp from his hair. He thinks of the angry tattooed man in the coffee shop and flushes with rage again. Fuckin’ punk asshole thinking he’s better than people.

Adam gives himself three seconds to fume, then takes a long sip of his coffee. He’s still got a lot of painting to do. His shoulders and neck are happy for the break, but it can’t last. He wants this done tonight and the space cleared so he can start moving things in tomorrow.

 _His_ shop. He still feels a thrill at that. This is his space, to do with what he wants, and upstairs is his apartment. That he owns. No more shitty landlords. No more waiting weeks to get plumbing fixed. No more fighting over deposits. Sure, it might be scarcely decorated, but it’s _his_ and that’s what matters.

Adam is grinning now. He touches his fingers to the crinkled side of his mouth. Joy feels weird, especially when it comes this easy. A good weird, though. A weird he could get used to.

He sets his coffee cup down and grabs the paint roller. Time to get back to work.

*

Adam’s exhausted. He’s spent the last few days cleaning, decorating, and moving things into the shop. He’s got his counter and till set up, tables and display shelves now, too. He’s had a woman in to check the electrics. Had an alarm installed. It’s starting to _look_ like a shop, finally. Just lacking the stock.

He’s discovered the unfortunate fact that while he has escaped many things, he has not escaped bad neighbours. The tattoo store next door plays loud music most of the day, and he can hear as well as feel it thrumming through their connecting wall. It’s irritating to him, and he knows it’s going to be distracting to customers.

On day three he finally builds up the courage to confront them.

He pushes the door open, and a Chinese man looks up from a magazine he’s reading. He’s handsome in a hipster kind of way. Shirt collar under long sweater. Hair tied back in a bun. He looks at Adam over the rim of his glasses and Adam is temporarily frozen. He was expecting some kind of rough looking biker type, not Asian Hozier. 

“Hello,” the man says.

“Uh.” Adam’s brain stutters before latching back onto irritation, though it feels less heated now. “Hi. I’ve just bought the store next door.”

“...Okay?”

“Right, well… your music is very loud,” Adam says. He feels old as he says it. Feels far older than he is. 

“Okay,” the man says again. Adam’s irritation gains back some of its heat.

“It’s reverberating through the wall,” Adam says. 

“Okay.”

“It’s very irritating. Could you perhaps turn it down a little?”

“We could.” The man makes no movement to do so. Adam presses his nails into his palms, takes a deep breath. Before he can speak again a figure comes stalking out from the back. Dark and silent. It takes Adam less than a second to place the shaved head adorned with intricate ink patterns. Fucking _of course_.

“Why am I not surprised?” He sighs, and the newcomer’s eyes dart up, regard him with their icy gaze. He says nothing. Adam burns with rage. “Perhaps _you_ could turn the music down.”

The man scoffs.

“That shit isn’t my music.”

“Well whoever’s it is, it’s coming through my wall.”

“Jiang, tell them to cut it.”

“You tell them. I’m not a babysitter,” Jiang says. The man with the shaved head’s expression pinches tight in irritation for a moment. Adam can almost forgive him for the coffee shop if this is what he deals with every day. _Almost_.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he says, and Adam nods, unsure what else he can say. He had really expected his first approach to go better.

“Thank you,” he says. Stiff. Forced. The man looks briefly amused, then he disappears into one of the back rooms.

“Skov, turn that shit down before I smash your fuckin’ phone.”

And whatever compassion Adam had for him is gone. Jiang is staring at him still, and he meets his gaze briefly, gives an awkward nod, then turns and walks himself out and back to the safety of his own store. 

*

Roman spends his evenings walking around the Barns, bringing the livestock in for the night and feeding them. He spends his nights alone in a big empty house meant for a family. He considers getting a dog, but knows he works too much. He doesn’t trust a cat with Chainsaw. 

He tries, very very very hard, not to think of the man that has moved in next to his work. Especially not of his hands. Especially especially not of those hands on him. How those fingers would feel tracing patterns across his skin. Wrapped around his throat. Wrapped around his _cock._

He fails, but the point is he _tries_ before he just gives in and wanks off over a stranger’s hands like the absolute sad case he has become. He feels gross afterwards, sprawled on his childhood bed with come cooling on his stomach. Usually he only gives in to self hatred when he’s in mass, but he can taste the familiar flavour of it in his mouth now.

Ronan showers and stares at himself steely gazed in the mirror. Tells himself that’s his one indulgence and it’s over and done with now.

Of course, his treacherous brain goes and dreams of those hands that night.

*

He ends up going to the Pack party after he gets pictures of cliffs from Gansey; Sargent and Cheng packed tight to either side of him, all of them smiling as they take a selfie. After he sees Matthew has read his last message but not responded. And sure, it was just a one worded _ok_ but Matthew usually comes up with _some_ kind of response. After wandering around the Barns trying so hard not to think of the man who he’s dreamed of two nights in a row.

After all that, getting drunk or high enough to not think sounds pretty fucking ideal.

He’s been to Kavinsky’s mansion before. Mostly in his teens, when he and Kavinsky were closer to friends. Before he withdrew away from him and the pack. Ronan’s only been to one party since they reconnected and he started at Dreamer’s Ink. It’s an excessively large house that is more show than lived in. More rooms than anyone would need in a house. Even with rooming the rest of the pack, they don’t come close to filling the west wing.

The den is a large sprawling room. A wooden bar stretching along one wall, bottles of all kinds of drinks from all over the world stocked behind it. There’s a pool table, a dart board, a surround sound system, a large DJ booth, a sunken seating area, a large cinema style screen. One wall is lined with floor to ceiling windows. Kavinsky has built in LED lights that let the room change colour. This is just one room. It’s a wealth that, even to Ronan, even having been to Gansey’s house, is excessive. 

“Ey, yo, Lynch! Low and behold, like Christ himself, he has a second coming.”

“Fuck off,” Ronan says, which seems to be largely what his vocabulary is comprised of around Kavinsky and his pack. Kavinsky laughs like he’s just told a joke and Ronan swats him away when he tries to loop an arm around him. For a moment Kavinsky’s expression goes dark, then Proko is at his shoulder, handing him a drink, and he brightens again. Seemingly content as long as he’s got attention from someone. 

“It’s gonna get pretty soupy up here tonight, Lynch. You think you can keep up?”

Ronan shrugs. He’s not even going to try to keep up with them, but he doesn’t have to admit to that. Proko stands partially behind Kavinsky and stares darkly at Ronan. Ronan’s hand twitches with the urge to flip him off.

“Hey, Lynch!” Skov waves at him from behind the bar. “What you drinking?” 

Ronan uses this as an escape and makes his way to the bar. Skov mixes him up a drink, glancing every so often to Swan fucking around with the DJ booth. Ronan resists the urge to roll his eyes. 

“There you go.” Skov slides the drink across the bar. Ronan catches it and takes a deep drink, then gags slightly. Skov grins. “Oops. We make them strong here.”

Ronan glares, but says nothing. Just makes sure to steady himself when he takes a second sip. Skov’s grin widens at his steeled expression.

“See, you’re adapting already.” 

Ronan leans back against the bar as Skov vaults himself over it and goes to meet Swan on the dance floor. Their arms slither up around his neck and pull him into a kiss. He grips their hips and pulls them close. Ronan watches them from the side of his eye for a moment, before he turns away. 

Jiang is suddenly beside him and Ronan starts violently with a creative mixture of swearing.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come,” Jiang says.

“Well here I fucking am,” Ronan says, hand to his chest like he can will the rapid beat of his startled heart to slow. 

“What changed your mind?”

“I was bored.”

“Hmm.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Ronan clenches his teeth. Jiang smirks at him; a small, subtle twist of his mouth. 

“K is watching you,” Jiang says, swirling his straw in his glass.

“He’s always watchin’ me.”

“Mostly, yes.”

“Well he can watch my ass,” Ronan says, turning back to the bar and downing the rest of his drink.

“I think that’s the idea.”

Ronan leans across the bar and grabs a bottle of Jack. He makes himself a second drink that’s almost as strong as the first. Jiang offers him a drag of his joint. Ronan shakes his head.

“This is the softest thing you’ll get offered tonight,” Jiang says.

Swan and Skov are grinding against each other. Kavinsky is sprawled on one of the sunken sofas. Proko is straddling his lap, sucking a bruise into his throat. Ronan changes his mind and takes a hit. 

*

He doesn’t know what number of drink he’s on as a giggling Swan presses another into his hand. They look ethereal. Their blonde hair is dyed a pale silver, and it looks like a halo around their head as they lean over Ronan to hand him the glass.

Skov is behind them; tall, strong, all broad shoulders and lean muscles. He scoops Swan up bridal style and drops down near Ronan with them on his lap. Ronan watches them hazily, until he feels warm breath on his throat.

“Lynch, you have got to try this shit. It’ll blow your mind. Space travel without leaving the fuckin’ planet.” Kavinsky is very much in his face, holding up a little green pill between his index finger and thumb. Ronan’s hazy mind thinks that yes, mystery pill from Kavinsky is a good idea. He nods. “Ah-ah. If you want it, you have to take it my way.”

Kavinsky’s eyes are heavily lidded. His pupils are blown out. Beneath the ink on his throat, fresh hickies are blooming, purple and pretty. Ronan wants to touch his fingertips to them. He _does_ touch his fingers to them, and Kavinsky makes a soft, pleased sound. He places the pill on his tongue. Ronan stares at him dumbly for a moment, wondering why Kavinsky offered him the pill if he was just going to take it. Except Kavinsky just leaves it on his tongue like an invitation. 

Oh. _Oh._ He blinks. It feels slow and sticky. Behind Kavinsky, Proko has a hand up the back of Jiang’s shirt as they kiss. Like it’s nothing. Like it’s casual. _Fuck it_. Ronan closes the space between them.

Kavinsky uses his tongue to press the pill into Ronan’s mouth, and Ronan swallows. His tongue slides against Kavinsky’s. He feels the curve of his tongue stud and curiously traces over it. Kavinsky moans encouragingly, crowding further into his space, kissing him with sloppy passion, heavy hands on Ronan’s shoulders. He melts beneath the attention. Losing himself in the sensation. His body feels warm and heavy, longs for more contact. Then his thoughts catch up through the haze and he recoils back. Kavinsky laughs.

“Too late to get shy now, Lynch.” His hand cups the back of Ronan’s skull, fingers splayed out posessively.

“I need to piss,” Ronan says, and pushes Kavinsky off of him. 

*

He stares at himself in the bathroom mirror, trying to will himself into stillness. The world feels like it’s shifting around him. He feels a little queasy, but he thinks it’s the queasiness of drinking too much without hydrating, rather than from the pill. 

Ronan splashes his face with water. He remembers this. He remembers his body tingling and feeling light. He doesn’t remember leaving the bathroom, but he blinks and is suddenly on his stomach on an overly fluffy carpet. He’s not in the den anymore, but he can still hear the music. Not too far then.

Fingers trail down his spine and Ronan gasps. The touch is soft, teasing. He tilts his head and sees Kavinsky propped on an elbow beside him. He’s looking at Ronan with intent focus as he traces the tattoo on his back. He says something, soft and Slavic. Ronan’s not sure exactly which language, and he has no idea what it means. He blinks blearily. Kavinsky glances at his face and smiles.

“There you are, sleepyhead. Macaroni. You light weight. You crashed out like a sack of shit.”

“Wha-?” Ronan tries to talk but his mouth feels dry. Fluffy. His tongue feels too thick for his mouth. 

“Lynch, Lynch, _Ronan_. I’ve got you. Don’t worry about it.”

Ronan tries to speak again but Kavinsky presses a finger to his lips.

“Shshshhh. Just ride the wave. Let go. You’re always fighting. Just let yourself enjoy something for once.” 

So Ronan does. He closes his eyes. Let’s his body sag into the fluffy carpet. He feels like he’s on a cloud. Feels weightless. Remembers Kavinsky’s earlier words. _Space travel without leaving the fuckin’ planet._

*

After the warmth and floating, and Kavinsky’s fingers drawing soft patterns on his back, Ronan opens his eyes and he’s back on the couch. He’s still shirtless, but now it’s Swan that is beside him. An arm around Ronan’s shoulders to hold him steady as they raise a glass to his lips. He turns his head away.

“It’s okay. It’s just water. It’ll help with the dry mouth,” they say. 

“I fuckin’ hate your accent,” Ronan blurts out. Swan laughs so hard the glass shakes in their hand and splashes water down Ronan’s chest. 

“Whoops.” Dark fingers glide over his skin, scooping it up. Ronan follows the movement of the fingers up to Skov’s mouth, where he sucks the water off. Ronan’s mouth feels impossibly dry. The next time Swan puts the glass to his lips he drinks greedily. 

“There. See? We take care of our own,” Swan says. Ronan hasn’t noticed before; their face is sparkling. They have a glittery shadow on their eyelids and a glittery highlighter on their high cheekbones. They look ethereal and beyond human. Ronan’s jaw goes a little slack and water dribbles from the corner of his mouth. Skov swipes it up with his thumb.

“Shit, what did K give you?”

“Only one,” Swan answers for him. “He told us not to give him any more. He’s not used to it.”

“I can see that.” Skov laughs. It sounds warm to Ronan. He wants to roll that sound up and use it as a pillow for his heavy head.

“Fuck you,” Ronan says. 

“Are you offering?” Swan smiles. Their eyes narrow with the smile, until all Ronan can see is their pupils, two little black holes in their sparkling face. 

“Fuck off.” Ronan scowls, but Swan’s hand rubs the back of his neck until he relaxes enough to finish the glass of water. He feels better now that the roughness is out of his mouth.

“All good?”

“Mmm.”

“You ready to tap out, man?” Skov asks. Ronan glares blearily at him.

“No.” 

“That’s the spirit.” Skov slaps his shoulder. Swan drifts away and brings back another glass of water that Ronan drinks slower. 

His foggy brain simply doesn’t have the thought to look away as Skov pins Swan to the couch and mouths hungrily at their collarbone. They moan, and Ronan’s body pulses at the sound. Their leg hooks around Skov’s waist, and Skov’s hand slips between them. Swan whimpers. Ronan blinks.

*

Fingers press beneath Ronan’s jaw. He jerks awake. Or tries to. He feels like he’s moving through water.

“He’s alright,” Jiang says. Ronan bats his hand away. The lights are pulsing in different colours. He’s moved from the couch to one of the bean bag chairs by the windows. 

“What are you doing?” 

“You were very still. I was just checking your pulse.” Jiang grins, slow and lazy. Purple blue red green lights flash across his face, shadows shifting over his bone structure. He looks like art. Ronan touches his cheek. Then, realising what he’s doing, flattens his palm and pushes Jiang’s face away. He only laughs in response.

Jiang leaves him, and Ronan is feeling steady enough to stand. He hears raised voices from outside, and after following the stretch of windows around half the room, he finds the open doors and heads out into the night air. Outdoor lights illuminate a pool area, where the rest of the pack are. None of them are wearing swimwear.

“Ey, Lynch! Like Christ himself, he rises from the dead.”

Ronan flips Kavinsky off and sits on one of the pool loungers. Kavinsky splashes his way to the side of the pool and folds his elbows on the ledge. He rests his chin on his arms and grins at Ronan. His hair is slicked back against his skull, a dark smudge of oil against his pale skin. The ink of his tattoos stand out in stark contrast.

“You shouldn’t be swimming with a new tattoo,” Ronan says. Kavinsky laughs.

“Never does me no harm. You coming in?”

“No.”

“Come on. You’ve come this far. I won’t let you drown. Maybe. Probably.”

“Fuck off,” Ronan says eloquently.

“You comin’ down? You want another pill?”

Ronan shakes his head. He’s lost enough time. He still feels light around the edges.

“Suit yourself.” Kavinsky scoops a handful of water and throws it across at Ronan. It doesn’t all reach him, but enough does to soak the right thigh of his jeans. He growls in annoyance as Kavinsky laughs and disappears beneath the water. A few moments later, Swan starts with a yell, so Ronan can guess where Kavinsky ended up.

He leans back on the lounger. The cool night air is welcome on his overheated skin. A thin layer of steam rises off the heated pool. On a raised platform at the end of the pool is a hot tub. Skov is lounging in it, tendrils of steam spiralling upwards into the night. A naked Jiang passes Ronan on his way to the tub with a glass in each hand.

“You want to sit with us?”

Ronan shakes his head. Jiang shrugs and pads ahead. Ronan closes his eyes against the excess of skin that is everywhere. When he opens them again he sees Kavinsky caught between Proko and Swan. He’s staring directly at Ronan as they both mouth at his shoulders and neck. His tongue runs along his top teeth, and Ronan feels like looking away is forfeiting a challenge. 

“Sure you don’t want in?” Kavinsky asks. His hand skims the water but Ronan knows that’s not what he means. He finally looks away. Kavinsky’s laugh blends into a moan.

*

Ronan is in the bathroom again. He doesn’t remember walking here. His limbs feel fuzzy, like they’re on their way to pins and needles. He grips the sides of the porcelain sink so hard his knuckles press white against the skin.

This was a mistake. Better to be alone in his home than stranded in Kavinsky’s den, dealing with the confusing twisted heat in his stomach. He doesn’t know how to handle that feeling. What he does know is anger, so he clings to that. Let’s it blaze until it burns away the other feelings.

That’s what he tells himself. 

*

Adam Parrish starts awake to the blaring of his alarm. He fumbles blindly, eyes stuck together with sleep, until he hears the crash of his phone falling off the side table.

“Oh, for fuck sake.” Adam bends over the edge of the bed and follows the vibrations until he can grab his phone. He silences the alarm. On the way up he bangs his head on the side table. “Ow.”

Adam sits for a moment in his misery, rubbing the back of his head where there’s a pulse of pain. He squints at his phone screen. 6:03 on a Sunday morning. So much for a day of rest, but he’s hoping to open next week, so he has to put the work in.

He’s built up a pocket of warmth in his cocoon of blankets. The air outside them is frigid and cold. Adam’s body aches, especially around the joints, ghost memories of old injuries complaining as he heaves himself out of bed. 

He dresses quickly. There’s not much left in his cupboards. He uses the end of the bread to make toast and adds a mental note to grab some groceries to the overflowing stacks of mental notes he already has.

Adam leans his forehead against the front door. His body aches. His tiredness is bone deep. He wants nothing more than to crawl back into bed, but he remembers a younger Adam. Remembers working three jobs and having most of his money taken off of him for the house. Remembers barely scraping by. He’s working hard now, but it’s hard work for himself. That makes the difference.

Adam sighs, and opens the door.

*

Ronan wakes up in a bed that isn’t his. The pillow is too swollen. The sheets are too light. There’s a body draped casually against him and the light pressure of them feels suffocating as his brain tries to work out how he got here.

He jerks away from the touch. Turns to find a bleary Kavinsky blinking awake. Right. Kavinsky. Kavinsky’s party. Kavinsky’s house.

“Ugh. Too early,” Kavinsky says, and reaches for him again. Ronan shifts back out of his reach and kicks the blanket down. Thankfully he’s still wearing his jeans, a painful line of where the waistline has pressed over his hip as he slept a reassurance that they haven’t been off for some time. Kavinsky snorts. “Don’t worry. Your chastity is entact.”

Ronan flips him off. Kavinsky curls his hand around that finger and pulls Ronan’s hand to him. Tucks it under his head. Ronan shakes him off again and Kavinsky whines in protest. 

There’s blood on the sheets. Ronan’s gaze focuses in on it. His body trembles. He doesn’t feel any pain, doesn’t feel anything beyond mild sleep stiffness. He touches the light smudge of blood. Kavinsky follows his gaze down.

“Oh.” He rolls onto his back and pushes the blanket down from his very naked hips. Ronan starts to turn away, before he catches sight of the feather, tacky with dried blood.

“For fuck sake, K. You should know how to look after your fucking ink at this point.” Ronan stands. He goes to the bathroom, gets what he needs, and comes back. Muttering “fucking useless” beneath his breath as he cleans up the tattoo and purposefully ignores Kavinsky’s morning wood.

“Then you wouldn’t do it for me.” Kavinsky has the most infuriatingly smug grin on his face. He rubs his hand over Ronan’s stubbled head. Ronan bristles at the touch. 

“You’re lucky this didn’t get infected. Prick.”

“Thank you, Doctor Lynch.”

“Fuck off.”

“Or is it nurse Lynch? You’d look good in those little uniforms.”

Ronan hits him in the face with a pillow and goes to find his shirt.

*

The house is eerily quiet and still after the noise of last night. There’s less mess than he was expecting as he heads back to the den, steadying himself with a hand along the hallway wall, still a little wobbly from how much he drank. The den is bathed in pale morning light as he steps through.

Ronan checks the couches, the bar, DJ booth, but his shirt is nowhere to be found. He fumbles along the windows until he finds the doors and checks by the pool. Nothing. When he comes in, Kavinsky is standing in the doorway in only a shirt. Ronan’s shirt.

“Come back to bed,” he says. 

“Give me that.”

“If I give you it will you come back to bed?”

“You know I won’t.”

“Then no.” Kavinsky turns and darts off. Ronan doesn’t bother to chase him. He knows that’s what he wants. Instead he takes his time following him back to the bedroom, where Kavinsky is just a mess of black hair poking out of the sheets. “It’s too early to be awake. I’m pretty sure I’m still drunk.”

“No shit. Surprised you have a functioning liver between all of you.”

Kavinsky’s hand shoots out lightning quick when Ronan is within reach and latches onto his wrist. He tries to pull away. Despite his slight frame, Kavinsky is surprisingly strong, and he wins the tug of war, pulling Ronan down beside him. 

“Look, Lynch, ain’t no way you can drive like this anyway. Might as well take it easy until you can go.”

Ronan grumbles, but sits cross legged against the headboard. Kavinsky shuffles closer and presses his head to Ronan’s side. Ronan doesn’t understand why, when he has his pack of dogs tripping over themselves to hump his leg, Kavinsky is so focused on him. Maybe it would be flattering if it weren’t so annoying.

“You have a good night?”

“No.”

Kavinsky frowns up at him, but Ronan’s not going to change his answer. He doesn’t count a night he can only remember flashes of as being _good_.

“You’re such a wet rag, you know that?”

Ronan flicks his forehead. Kavinsky bites his finger and won’t let go until Ronan presses the fingers of his other hand painfully hard into his jaw.

“Leaving now,” he says, and Kavinsky squawks in protest. Ronan gives up on his shirt and goes in hunt of a fridge that isn’t 90% alcohol. 

*

It takes him quite a few rooms before he finds the kitchen, eventually following the sound of voices. Jiang is drinking coffee. There’s deep shadows beneath his eyes and his hair is tied back in the messiest ponytail Ronan has ever seen it in. He’s talking to Proko, who goes silent and surly faced at Ronan’s entrance.

“Good morning,” Jiang says. Ronan nods at him. 

“So you’re K’s new bed warmer?” Proko asks. His glaring gaze follows Ronan as he steps to the fridge and takes out a carton of orange juice.

“Not by choice,” Ronan says. He opens two cupboards before Jiang silently points to the one with the glasses in it. 

“Don’t know what he sees in you anyway. You can’t even hold it together on one pill.”

“Proko,” Jiang says. There’s a hint of warning in his voice.

“Well he can’t.” Proko sounds like a sullen child. He reminds Ronan of Kavinsky. Ronan wonders if he’s always been like that, or did Kavinsky carve him in his image. Is that what he’s trying to do to Ronan?

“I’m not interested. You can keep him.” 

“As if you could take him. You’re just a fleeting interest.”

“What is your problem? Everyone else here was plastered to Kavinsky last night, and I don’t see you at any of their throats.”

Proko’s hands curl into fists on the table. His body trembles as he stares at Ronan, eyebrows sloping sharply.

“It’s not the same,” he says, and then stands jerkily, chair scratching the floor with a squeal, and leaves. Ronan sits in his empty chair.

“He’s just jealous,” Jiang says, after they’ve been sitting in silence for a minute and Ronan has drank half his juice. “He’s used to K being obsessed with him. Sure, he looks and plays with others, but he used to be fixated with Proko. Inseparable.”

“His codependency issues aren’t my problem.”

Jiang huffs a laugh.

“In our family, everyone’s issues are each other’s problems.”

“Good thing I already have a family.” 

Jiang looks at him over his glasses, but says nothing. Ronan drinks the rest of his juice. 

He makes toast after Jiang wanders off and he has the kitchen to himself, free to hunt through cupboards and drawers to find what he needs. He misses the familiarity of his own kitchen. He misses Chainsaw cawing at the window. Swan appears shortly after, wrapped in one of Skov’s hoodies that drapes down to their thighs. 

“I smell food,” they say. “Mm, toast. Good idea.”

They clatter around behind Ronan. He remembers them bringing him water and feels a little less hatred. Even their accent isn’t as bad today. Their voice is sleep soft, the elocution slipping, and Ronan can hear hints of lilting Welsh slipping through their prim and proper voice. 

“Do you want tea or coffee?” they ask. Kavinsky’s house actually has a kettle in it, and Ronan watches them fill it. 

“Do you know how to make proper tea?”

Swan grins.

“You mean like British tea? None of this American shit?” Ronan nods. “Hell yeah, I do. You take any sugar?”

“Two.”

“Coming right up.”

Ronan watches them take out mugs and tea bags and a little jar of sugar. Their movements are fluid and easy, graceful. He feels a foreign thrum of affection for them and immediately pushes it down deep.

“How are you feeling today?” Swan sits the mugs on the table. They tuck one leg beneath themself as they sit across from Ronan. They look tired, sleep tousled, but still a little ethereal. Stubborn remains of glitter still sparkling on their eyelids. Ronan shrugs. “That bad, huh?”

“No.”

“Well, we got plenty of water in you before you crashed out, so that’ll help.”

Ronan nods. Eats the last triangle of his toast. He cradles the warm mug to his chest and breathes in the steam, the slight sweetness from the sugar. He closes his eyes as he takes a sip and hums, satisfied. When he opens his eyes Swan is watching him with a small smile.

“Good, right? I almost had an aneurysm the first time I saw someone make tea in the microwave. Savages!”

“Yeah,” Ronan says. Then, because he’s been thinking about it all morning: “When did I take my shirt off?”

“Uhh. I’m not sure. I think you were off somewhere with Kavinsky.”

Ronan’s jaw goes tight and tense. That’s what he thought. 

“Right.”

Swan looks at his tense fingers clasped around his mug.

“Hey. K won’t have gone too far, right? He wants you to want him. He’s not gonna force anything like that. Nothing fucked up.”

“Touching someone who’s out of it is fucked up regardless of how you touch them.”

Swan shrugs. They take a long drink of their tea. They lean back in their chair.

“Not here,” they say eventually. “K goes by his own boundaries.”

And that’s the problem.

*

It’s past noon by the time Ronan feels sober enough to drive. He’s claimed his clothes back from Kavinsky, looking a little rumpled as he steps out onto the drive.

“See you on Monday, Lynch!” Kavinsky stands in the doorway, shirtless with his arms crossed over his chest as he watches Ronan stride to his car.

“Take care of your fucking tattoo or I’m not doing you any more,” Ronan says, and slams his car door.

Chainsaw is waiting in a nearby tree when he gets home. She swoops down and lands heavily on his shoulder with an annoyed caw that buzzes through Ronan’s aching head.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he says, and then aches in a different way as he remembers his mother. “Alright, I’m late. Big whoop.”

“Krawww!”

“It’s spring. You should be fending for yourself now anyway.”

“Krah!”

“Fuck you,” Ronan says, as he fumbles with his keys. He gets the door open and goes straight to the kitchen so he can give Chainsaw her crackers, smashing them for her to pick from the counter. She quiets down as she eats, and Ronan goes to change into warmer clothes before he starts his rounds of the farm.

*

When Ronan shows up for work the next morning, there’s a new sign across the top of the shop next door. He slows his BMW enough to read it.

_Parrish Petals_

A flower shop. Huh. Wasn’t expecting that.

*

Adam opens on a dreary Wednesday morning. It is largely anticlimactic. 

He opens orders back up on his website. Announces that he’s no longer working out of his rented flat, and has now moved into his new premises. He posts the details in a simple brochure he’s made up; address, opening times, some pictures of his work. He gets two online orders by lunchtime, which passes the afternoon for him as foot traffic is non-existent. 

It’s not a promising start, but starts seldom are. He hopes as the weather picks up the shop sees more footfall. He feels better now that he’s set up. The shop floor is now rich with the scent of fresh flowers, and it soothes Adam. Even as the beat of music rumbles from the other side of the wall.

Yeah. Business will pick up. Things will be fine. As long as he doesn’t murder one of the tattooists first.

*

“What?” Ronan says. Kavinsky has been staring at him for five minutes, and he had determined to stick it out in silence, but his patience is wearing thin. 

“I’m booored,” Kavinsky says. He pushes off the door frame and steps closer to Ronan. “Let me put another hole in you.”

“No.”

“Come on! We could do your labret. Or your eyebrow. I think you’d look charming with an eyebrow piercing.”

“I don’t want any more.”

“Maybe a Prince Albert.”

“Fuck off.”

Kavinsky sighs and drapes himself over Ronan’s shoulders. This is annoying because the pressure of his weight means Ronan has to stop sketching.

“Septum?”

“No, Kavinsky.”

“Could do the other side of your nose. Or I could put a cheek piercing in your little dimple. I know it’s there. It’s rare, but I’ve seen you smile.” Kavinsky pokes his pinky finger against Ronan’s cheek. Ronan clenches his teeth tight to stop himself from biting Kavinsky instead. 

“Cut it out,” he says, and elbows Kavinsky in the stomach. Kavinsky laughs around the little “oof” of air leaving him. 

“Could do some dermals down here…” Kavinsky trails his fingers down Ronan’s spine, but before he can reach his low back, Ronan turns his chair away. Kavinsky takes that as invitation to drop into his lap.

“No,” Ronan says, blocking him halfway as he stands up. “I’m going to fuckin’ report you for workplace harassment.”

“To whom?”

Ronan pushes past him to the front. 

“Jiang, who’s our HR?”

Jiang looks up from his own sketching. He pushes his glasses up his nose with a sigh.

“I suppose that would be me.”

“Kavinsky’s being a fucking terror.”

“To be fair, you knew what you were getting into when you signed up.”

He has a point, but Ronan doesn’t have to like it. Kavinsky slithers thin arms around his waist, and Ronan elbows him away again.

“I’m taking my lunch. I’ll be back for my one o’clock.” He doesn’t wait for a response, just grabs his jacket, ducks under the counter without opening it, and pushes his way out into the street. 

He pulls on his jacket once he’s walked away from the store front. Shoves his hands deep in the pockets and storms off down the pavement. Once he’s stomped the worst of his frustrations out, he slows to a more comfortable pace and pulls out his phone. His only notification is an eggplant emoji followed by a syringe emoji from Kavinsky, which he ignores. He puts his headphones in and is waiting for Spotify to open when he bumps into someone and feels heat blister up his arm.

“Sorry, I- oh. Of course.”

Ronan looks up to see the annoyed expression of the flower man staring at him. 

*

Adam just wants to lie down. After a quiet first few days, he got a wedding order from an old regular, and he’s been working flat out all morning. He agreed to the short notice deadline because he needs the money, but it’s going to be tight. He’d allowed himself a fancy coffee as a treat, a stress break. A fancy coffee that is now mostly a wet stain slowly expanding across the chest of his shirt. 

“You scalded me,” the shaved head man says, shaking hot liquid from his hand before he rubs it against his jeans. If he were anyone else, Adam would feel bad. As it is, he’s mostly just annoyed.

“Why weren’t you looking where you were going?”

“Why weren’t _you_ looking where you were going?”

“I-“ Adam flushes. He’d been too busy going over the order in his head. He’d been completely spaced out before the impact jerked him back to earth. “Asked you first.”

“Mature.” The man looks at the spill on Adam’s shirt and he feels small. He feels like he used to in his old clothes, faded and threadbare, hardly fitting him anymore. He feels poor and cheap and insignificant. Which isn’t really fair considering this man knocked his coffee all over him and it was only a little bit maybe his fault. “You got any napkins?”

“What?” Adam blinks.

“Napkins? Mop that up before it soaks through and burns you.” 

_Before it burns you_. He hadn’t been judging the stain. He’d been considering Adam. Adam, who can already feel the heat against his skin. He plucks the material away. 

“I don’t.”

“Wait here.”

“What are you-“

Before he gets an answer, the man takes off, long strides. Adam watches him move quickly down the street and into the coffee shop he’s just come from. When he reappears, he has a wad of napkins in his hand. He brings them back and thrusts them at Adam.

“Here.”

Adam takes them and dabs at his shirt. He regards the man, who isn’t looking directly at him. His nose is narrow, pointed, it reminds Adam of a bird. He has pretty lashes. So starkly dark against the white of his skin, the pale blue of his eyes. _Why are you thinking about his eyelashes?_ Adam clears his throat.

“Thank you,” he says. A little stiff, since he still kind of blames the man. Then, after a moment: “Adam.”

“What?”

“My name. Since we keep running into each other. Adam Parrish.” He holds out his hand. The man stares at it for a long moment. Adam wonders if he’s worried about sticky coffee residue, and just as he’s about to retract his hand, pale fingers wrap around it.

“Ronan Lynch.” Ronan’s hand is cold, but his grasp is firm, secure. He gives a brief shake before withdrawing his hand and shoving it into his pocket. “I can get you another coffee.”

“I don’t need you to get me another coffee.”

Ronan arches a dark brow.

“Never said you did, Parrish.” He rolls Adam’s name out, like he’s testing the shape of it in his mouth. Adam bristles, feeling defensive for no reason at all. A bone deep instinct. He’s so tired of always being in fight or flight. 

“Yes or no?”

Adam looks at his phone. He’s been out longer than he planned already, but… he’s not expected to actually drink the coffee with Ronan, right? It’s just a replacement. It’s not that he’s asking him _out_ for coffee. He can spare another few minutes. He could really do with the energy kick.

“Alright. Sure. Thank you.”

Ronan nods, then turns and walks back to the coffee shop. Adam blinks, then jogs to catch up with him. They stand in uncomfortable silence in the queue. Uncomfortable to Adam, anyway. He’s not quite convinced Ronan gets uncomfortable. 

“So,” he says, just to say something. “Tattoos.”

“What about them?”

An excellent question. 

“How’d you get into that?”

“Liked drawing. Liked tattoos. Made sense.”

“Right.” Adam pats at his shirt with the napkins again, self conscious of being around so many people with the stain on it. 

“How’d you get into flowers?”

Adam smiles automatically, thinking about his flowers. He presses his knuckles to the corner of his mouth to try and disguise it. 

“Uh, a little by accident, actually. Not what I planned. Wanted to do something a little more… I don’t know. What people define as _successful_. I started gardening as an outlet for stress. Got into the flowers. Researching them. Starting making up arrangements in my spare time. I’m… I’m rambling.” Adam cuts off, feeling awkward beneath the weight of Ronan’s stare.

“I asked,” Ronan says. His flat tone of voice doesn’t reassure Adam. He folds his arms across his ribs. 

“Sold a few to friends, and it took off from there. Made me happier than the work internships I was doing so I put my focus into it.”

Ronan’s eyes are pale and intense, ice blue, Adam wants to look away but can’t. 

“Next,” the barista says, and Ronan looks away.

*

It’s the same kid that served him on the day he met Adam. Of course it is. Ronan forces himself to smile in an attempt to seem more polite this time. 

“Hello.”

“Uh, hello, sir. What can I get you today?”

Ronan looks towards Adam, who looks vaguely amused by his strained attempt at a smile. It softens the edges. Makes his smile feel slightly more natural.

Adam steps forward and places his order for something sickeningly sweet sounding. No wonder his hand had been so sticky after their collision. Ronan pays, and then leads the way down the counter. 

“Aren’t you getting anything?”

Ronan shakes his head.

“You didn’t have to- I thought you were coming anyway.”

“No. Only when I get sent on the drinks run for the shop.”

Adam frowns. His brow furrows in a very serious way. It’s endearing. Ronan wants to poke the crease between his eyebrows. Instead he lifts the cup when it’s ready, and hands it to Adam. Those delicate fingers wrap carefully around the cup, like he’s afraid of another spill. His wrist bone is clean today. A little bump at the base of his hand. Ronan stares at it until Adam holds the cup to his chest.

Adam steps out of the shop first, Ronan reaching over his head to push the door open. This close he can smell the scent of flowers on him. Light, fresh, sweet. 

“Well. Thank you,” Adam says, holding his cup up slightly. 

“Seemed fair,” Ronan says. There’s a beat of silence. Adam nods, then turns slightly.

“Well. I’d better get back to work. See you around, Ronan.”

Ronan watches him head down the street and disappear into pedestrian traffic. He tilts his head slightly. Of course the one time he gets the balls up to ask a man for coffee he doesn’t even stay to drink the coffee. Ronan purses his lips, then shapes them back into a frown and goes to grab something for lunch before he has to be back in the studio.


	2. I Saw You In My Sleep, Darling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Such Small Hands by La Dispute.
> 
> Not important to plot, but for context, in this AU Adam is a couple of years older than Ronan and grew up in a different small town.
> 
> Content warnings:  
> Non graphic violence  
> Possessive behaviour  
> Reference to parental abuse  
> Reference to parental death and non graphic description of death  
> Reference to self harm scars  
> Blasphemy  
> Explicit sexual content

Adam doesn’t see Ronan for a couple of weeks, until he appears in his doorway just before closing. It’s raining outside, and in just the brief walk from next door, Ronan is splattered with it. Fat drops of water roll down his shaved head and splash against the shoulders of his leather jacket.

“Ronan,” Adam says.

“There’s a language to flowers, right?”

“Uh. Yeah.”

“How do I say fuck off in them?”

“Excuse me?” Adam tilts the right side of his head towards Ronan, wondering if he just misheard. 

“Fuck off. But with flowers.”

“Oh. That is what you said.”

“Yes.”

“Any particular reason you’re telling them to fuck off?”

Ronan runs a hand over his head, brushing off the last of the water droplets. He clicks his tongue against his teeth thoughtfully.

“My boss won’t take a hint.”

“Uh. And the hint is-?”

“I don’t want to sleep with him.”

“Shit,” Adam says, then hisses. Distracted by the drama of Ronan’s statement, he hadn’t been paying attention and caught himself on a rose thorn. He lifts his thumb to his mouth and briefly sucks on it. When he looks up, Ronan’s eyes are locked on him, stare intense. Adam supposes sucking a wound doesn’t really promote the hygienic standard of the shop’s health and safety. He clears his throat. “So you think he’ll listen to flowers?”

“No. I’m just pissed off and want to be petty.”

“Well, I appreciate your honesty. Is he like, threatening your job or..?”

“What? No. Nothing like that. We’ve known each other from school. It’s not some creepy old man and his casting couch deal. He’s just. Used to getting what he wants.”

“And he wants you.”

“Wow. No need to sound so surprised.”

“I’m not!” Adam’s cheeks heat and he ducks his head. “I was just confirming the details.”

“Uhuh.”

“So is it a sexuality issue? Are we looking a soft let down?”

“No, we’re looking a: take a fucking hint.”

“Right. Hmm. Well orange lilies are hatred. Are we going that far?”

“Maybe,” Ronan says, but the way he drums his fingers against the counter makes Adam think it’s a no. 

“Well, carnations are pretty straightforward flowers.” Adam moves around the counter and along the displays to where there’s a selection of brightly coloured carnations. “In simple terms, the plain colours mean yes, with each colour signifying a theme, and the stripes mean no. Though it’s a softer no than what you’re after. Then there’s one exception. The yellow carnation. It’s a hard no.”

Adam picks a yellow carnation out, and turns to show Ronan. He doesn’t realise Ronan has followed him across from the counter, and as he turns his back collides with Ronan’s front. He trips over one of Ronan’s big boots. A hand at his elbow steadies him with surprising gentleness. 

“Ah, sorry.”

“Yellow sounds good,” Ronan says.

“Butterfly weed means leave me or let me go. Along those lines. The colours would work as well.” Adam points out a small cluster of butterfly weeds. “And black roses are usually symbolic of death, but that can be interpreted as an ending as well.”

“What about just one of those with the others?”

“Yeah. I think the subtlety will stand out better that way. Let’s see. You’re the first person to ask for something like this.” Adam goes behind the counter and pulls out a book on flower language. He skims through it, looking for more inspiration. 

“Then why do you have those flowers?”

“Because very few people actually care about flower symbolism anymore. They just want whatever looks pretty. Could put some petunias in. Anger and resentment?”

“Sounds good,” Ronan says absently. Adam looks up to find him browsing some of the premade bouquets and flower boxes. “Your colours compliment so well. Every bouquet has its own flow.”

Adam wonders why Ronan is commenting on this for a moment, before remembering that right, yeah, he’s an artist.

“I try,” he says. Dismissive of praise. So used to clawing his way up. So used to his best always being mediocre to those with more privilege, more practice, more help. Having to half kill himself to make the same impact as their casual efforts. Praise rolls off of him. Criticism sticks. An unfortunate side effect of his upbringing.

“You don’t try. You do,” Ronan says. Simple and plain. It’s not meant to be flattering, just an observation. Adam’s chest does a strange, painful clench.

“Right. Uh. I could fill it out with some candytuft. Indifference.”

“Yeah, that sounds good. And I don’t want to diminish your work, but can you make it look kind of sad? Sparse and a little wilted?”

“I… can try.” Adam’s brow furrows as he considers that. “That’s kind of the opposite of what I usually do.”

“I know. I’ll pay double.”

“I’m not going to charge you double for half assed work.”

“I didn’t say charge me. I said I’d pay double. Call it a tip.” 

Adam tries to argue, but when he tells Ronan the price, Ronan puts just over twice down and simply refuses to take any change.

“Fine. Enjoy your shitty bouquet,” Adam says, thrusting it at him. Finally a smile breaks through Ronan’s expression, sharp and feral. 

“Thank you.”

He starts to leave, then glances back over his shoulder.

“What’s _your_ favourite flower?”

Adam is thrown for a moment.

“Lotus flowers,” he says after a moment. The plant that blooms from mud into a pure, beautiful flower. Potential and perseverance. Lotus flowers remind him of himself.

Ronan nods, then leaves, and Adam stares at the door for a long moment afterwards. If it weren’t for the money still sitting on the counter, he’d be half convinced he imagined that exchange.

*

Skov is at the desk when Ronan comes back. 

“Aw, Lynch, you shouldn’t have,” he says, hands to his chest in a mock swoon.

“They’re for Kavinsky.”

“Aw, Lynch, maybe you really shouldn’t have,” Skov says, this time with some concern. 

“Something for me?” Kavinsky appears like fucking Beetlejuice, but you only say his name once to summon for him. “Flowers? Awh, Lynch. I’m flattered.”

His tone is mocking, but he does look kind of flattered. Ronan rolls his eyes and thrusts the bouquet at him.

“Didn’t know you cared, Ro-Ro.”

“If you call me that again, I will shove this entire bouquet down your throat.”

“Alright, bitch boy. Gimme.” Kavinsky snatches the flowers and holds them up to smell them. “This is surprisingly gay of you.”

“Fuck off.”

Kavinsky laughs, unaffected, and takes the flowers off to find a vase. 

“You know what you’re doing?” Skov asks. “Thought you weren’t interested.”

“They’re just flowers,” Ronan says. “I always know what I’m doing “

*

“Lynch. I’ve been waiting.”

“ _Fuck_ sake.” Ronan has just clicked his studio lights on, to find Kavinsky stretched on his chair. His heart beats double time at the sudden shock. Kavinsky, unaffected, peels a petal from the yellow carnation and drops it to the floor.

“You know, Swan does a lot of floral designs. I thought maybe they’d want a picture of the flowers you gave me. Reference, you know. Since they were so very _pretty_.” He drops another petal and Ronan rolls his eyes at the melodrama of it all.

“I’m gonna have to clean this-“

“Shut up. I’m talking. You see, it turns out they also know a bit about flower symbolism.”

Ronan starts to grin. He can’t help it. The corners of his mouth twitch and raise. He presses his knuckles to his lips.

“Turns out, that wasn’t a very nice gift at all. Seemed just _too_ pointed to be an accident.”

“Would be a pretty happy accident.”

Kavinsky is across the room in a moment and slams Ronan back against the wall. He’s got one of the disposable razors from Ronan’s stash in his hand, and he presses it to Ronan’s neck. Draws it at an angle just enough to cause the slight sting of a cut. Ronan goes tense and still. Knows better than to push back when Kavinsky is in one of his moods.

“You say no, you say no, Lynch. I respect that.”

“When have you-“ The razor presses closer. Ronan shuts up.

“But that’s just fuckin’ with me. I don’t respect that. Make sure it doesn’t happen again.” He slices another thin line, and Ronan presses his tongue hard against his teeth. “Or else I’ll put this somewhere a little more delicate.”

Kavinsky finally lowers the razor, but he leans in closer. Presses a kiss to Ronan’s neck. When he moves back, Ronan’s blood is on his lips. He reaches up and gives Ronan’s cheek a few sharp slaps.

“You should tidy this place up. It’s a mess.”

Kavinsky leaves, and Ronan gets some tissue paper and presses it to his throat to stop the shallow bleeding. He looks towards the door and smirks. _Worth it._

*

A few days after Adam makes the bouquet for Ronan, he comes down to open shop and finds an A5 sheet of paper in a plastic envelope slid beneath the metal shutter. He lifts it and turns it over. 

It’s a drawing of a lotus flower. Black and white. Lightly shaded, but beautiful in its delicacy. The suggestion of ripples around it, of the reflection in the water beneath it. Adam traces the shape of it through the plastic. 

At the bottom, in rough scrawl: _Thanks. RL_

Surprised but delighted, Adam brings the drawing inside and tucks it safely under the counter on top of his flower language book.

*

“One second!” Adam calls from the back. He finishes emptying out old flower water, sets the tall vase down, and jogs back out to the front. 

Ronan is standing in the centre of the flower shop. Dark among the bursts of colour. Framed by a halo of light from the front window.

“Oh. Hello again. Back for another fuck off bouquet?”

“No, that one was more than adequate.”

“Your boss backed off?”

“Not exactly, but it was worth it when he worked it out.”

“Thank you.” When Ronan tilts his head, Adam expands by pulling out the drawing. “For this. It’s gorgeous.”

“Just a sketch.” Ronan shrugs.

“Well, I like it. Thank you. So what _can_ I do for you?”

“Nothing. I was on drinks run today.” Ronan sets a cup on the counter between them. “Cavity inducing caramel coffee thing, right?”

“What?”

“That’s your poison.”

“You… you didn’t have to.”

“I don’t have to do a lot of things. Should drink that while it’s still warm.” Ronan puts his hands in his pockets and leaves like it’s a perfectly casual thing for him to bring Adam coffee. 

Adam lifts the cup and takes a slow sip. It’s exactly his order. 

*

Ronan dreams of a pond as big as a lake, but still distinctly a pond in the way dream logic is not confined to waking logic. The surface covered in hundreds of Lotus flowers. He wades among them, water up to his thighs, then his hips. 

The water is at his chest by the time he reaches the largest flower, still pushing its way up from the water. The petals peel back, and there’s Adam; naked, graceful, gorgeous. He’s curled into himself, but slowly blossoms out with the flower petals until he’s sitting in the centre of the blossom.

He reaches one of his elegant hands towards Ronan. Ronan grasps it, brings his fingers to his mouth and sucks at them like a life source. Adam smiles. His other hand comes to Ronan’s head, and he pushes him under the water.

*

Ronan wakes with a gasp in the dark of his room. He struggles for breath, drowning, lungs burning- except he isn’t. Not anymore. Now he’s just awkwardly hard at 3:48am in his room. 

“Fuck.” He says. He takes a slow drink of water and lays down again. He can’t get rid of the sensation of Adam’s fingers against his tongue. He closes his eyes and tries to sleep again, but his body is thrumming with arousal like a live wire.

“Fuck,” Ronan says again, and angrily shoves his hand down his boxers.

*

Adam gets a photo frame for the drawing and puts it in his living room. It feels a little less barren. He looks proudly at the drawing in its frame hung above his cheap sofa. Then he looks around the rest of the room and sighs. IKEA showrooms have more personality than his sparse flat.

*

Ronan can’t stop drawing flowers. He tells himself it’s a coincidence as he starts his second flash page of floral designs. Not quite as delicate or pretty as Swan’s watercolour designs, but he’s pushing his comfort zone. That’s good. That’s what he keeps telling himself.

“Flowers,” Jiang says. “Interesting.”

Ronan glares over his shoulder.

“More cryptic bullshit? Not so interesting.”

“Maybe just don’t let K see those,” Jiang says, still smiling. Ronan closes his studio door on him.

*

Ronan takes the weekend off. Month about he and Declan take turns to drive to each other for mass. He heads down on the Friday evening, planning to make a weekend of it.

He’s barely finished parking the BMW before Matthew is racing out the door. His hug is more of a tackle that sends Ronan stumbling back against the car. He holds Matthew back just as fiercely with one arm, his other hand ruffling his curls.

“Hey you. Someone’s hit their growth spurt.”

“Two whole inches,” Matthew says proudly. He smiles brightly and Ronan’s whole being _aches_ with affection.

“Still a bit more to go. You gotta grow taller than Declan so we can both bully him for being the shorty.”

Matthew laughs, and then launches into an entire catch up of his last month. Which is mostly school stuff. Ronan listens anyway, because he loves seeing Matthew excited and loves hearing Matthew laughing.

He and Declan greet each other much more subdued. A brief nod of acknowledgement over Matthew’s head.

“Drive okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

It’s brief, but it’s not tense. It’s not the anger or simmering resentment that it used to be. It’s just Declan and Ronan. They don’t need a lot of words. Matthew enjoys talking. They are happy to listen.

It’s good, having a weekend with his brothers. Ronan never realises how much he misses them until he’s with them again. Matthew especially, who seems to be growing up more and more everytime he looks away and looks back at him. 

“You looking after yourself?” Declan asks on Sunday, when Ronan’s gathering his things and getting ready for the long drive home. Ronan rolls his eyes.

“Yes.”

“Hm.” Declan nods. “You look good. Happier.”

“Nothing’s changed,” Ronan says.

“Well, I hope whatever hasn’t changed keeps up, then. I worry about you.”

Ronan flips him off, which is his way of saying thanks. Matthew carries his bag out to the car for him and then clutches him in another bear hug. 

“Text me when you get home.”

“Always do.”

“Not just an emoji. Tell me you got home safe.”

“Careful. Starting to sound like Declan.”

“Bleh! Blasphemy and treason!”

Ronan ruffles his hair once more, then gets into his car. As he pulls away, he can still see Matthew waving in his rear view mirror until he’s out of sight.

*

_I got home safe._

**Thank you :)**

*

“This has to stop. Or I _will_ get cavities,” Adam says, as Ronan brings him a third coffee of the week.

“Your own fault for drinking this crap.”

“You’re the one that keeps bringing it. Not like I’m gonna let it go to waste.” Adam smiles, but it’s a little tense around the edges. Every cup of coffee feels like a debt. Feels like a build up to some large unspoken favour, and he’s constantly waiting for what’s going to be asked of him.

“Whatever. I won’t bring anymore then,” Ronan says, and steps towards the door. Adam taps the lid of the cup, then realises he never said thank you. “Thank-“

Ronan is already gone.

“You,” Adam finishes. He smiles, small and secretive, before he swallows it with a mouthful of the coffee.

*

 _Coward_ , Ronan thinks as he leaves the flower shop. Every time he gets Adam a cup of coffee, he tells himself he’s gonna write his number on the cup. Every time he ends up doubting himself. 

He just keeps remembering the first time. Adam taking the cup and walking away. That feels like message enough. That feels like the message he’s been sending Kavinsky for months, but he keeps torturing himself by going to the flower shop anyway.

 _Maybe you and K are more alike than you want to admit_ , Ronan thinks. Then pulls a face like that very thought gave him a sour taste.

It’s nothing. It’s just kindness. You don’t need a reason for that. Heck, Gansey would be proud of him.

_You don’t like lies but you’re going to lie to yourself? You go in to see his pretty fucking hands. See if your dreams do them justice. They never do, do they?_

Once Ronan’s back in the studio, he puts his earphones in and turns his music up loud enough to block out his thoughts.

*

Ronan goes to the earliest mass on Sunday, and leaves feeling guilty for not really paying attention. For zoning in and out. 

He walks across the fields at the back of the Barns to the cluster of trees tucked in the far corner of one of them. Chainsaw flies back and forward above him. Ronan sits with his back against the tree. It’s been getting warmer. The day is still a little crisp, but the grass is dry beneath him. 

He props his sketchbook on his lap. Chainsaw lands on the top of one of his knees and tries to nibble his pencil until he shoos her away. She shifts to his shoulder instead and plays with the piercing at the top of his ear.

Ronan closes his eyes, letting his mind circle through images. He touches his pencil to the page, not knowing what he’s going to draw.

By the time he stands again, his page is full of sketches of hands. 

*

Ronan is true to his word and doesn’t bring Adam any more coffees, but by Wednesday the weight of being indebted to someone is wearing Adam down. He does something he hasn’t done before, and closes the shop for a lunch break.

Walking next door, Adam takes a breath to steel himself before stepping into the tattoo parlour. This time there’s a Black man at the desk with a pretty looking person draped over his shoulders, both of them laughing at a video they’re watching on the computer. They both look up as Adam steps in.

“Hey,” the person at the back says, and Adam is briefly taken aback by their accent. “You looking for an appointment?”

“Uhm, no. I was wondering if Ronan’s in today.”

“Ronan?” They look briefly surprised by that. “He’s in with someone at the moment.”

“Oh. When does he have lunch?”

“We don’t really do scheduled lunches in here,” the Black man says. “It’s sort of just go when suits, y’know? But… lemme check the book… yeah, they came in a few hours ago, so he shouldn’t be much longer.”

“Do you want a drink or something while you’re waiting?” The British sounding one gestures to a small fridge filled with water and energy drinks. Adam shakes his head.

“No, thank you.”

“How do you know Ronan? I didn’t think he had any friends,” the man says.

“I’m from next door. The flower shop.”

“Our new neighbour! Jiang mentioned you. I’m Swan, and this is Blake.”

“You can just call me Skov. Everyone else does.”

“Adam. Nice to meet you,” Adam says, though all he’s thinking with some annoyance is that Skov was the one playing his loud music the first time he came here.

“You haven’t been here that long,” Swan says, regarding Adam curiosity. He shifts his weight. Rubs his arm. Feels out of place. _Why is everyone who works here so good looking?_

“A few months now.”

“But you already know Ronan?”

“We’ve spoken a few times. He brings me coffee when he does the drink runs.”

“But Ronan barely ever does the drinks run. He hates it. Cant remember any of our orders,” Skov says. 

Before Adam can reply, Ronan’s door opens and he follows a tiny girl with a bright pink pixie cut out. He’s so focused on telling her how to properly care for her tattoo, it’s a moment before he notices Adam.

“And phone or drop in if you have any questions about the aftercare,” he finishes up. The girl flashes him a grin.

“Okay. Thanks again, Ronan. I love it.” Her lower leg is wrapped in cling film. Adam can make out some dark lines through it, but can’t really tell what the tattoo is as she passes him. 

“Hey,” Ronan says. Adam looks back to him.

“Hey.”

There’s a beat where they just look at each other, then Adam realises Ronan doesn’t know why he’s here. He feels awkward and stilted with Skov and Swan watching their exchange.

“Wanna grab lunch?”

If Ronan’s surprised, the only sign of it is a slight raise of his eyebrows. 

“Sure. Let me just clean up.” He steps back towards his room, and when Adam continues to linger in the waiting area, he says: “You can come in.”

“Aw, but we were having fun with him,” Swan says.

“And close the door,” Ronan says. Skov boos. Adam does as he’s asked.

“If you’re not going for lunch yet, it’s fine. I just thought- You’ve bought me so many coffees. I should return the favour, except, you don’t drink coffee. So.

“So. Lunch.”

“Yes. You do eat, right?”

Ronan huffs. It’s just a brief, harsh exhale of air, but it’s the closest sound to a laugh that Adam’s heard him make. He feels a little victorious. 

“I eat,” Ronan confirms. Spraying disinfectant on his chair and rubbing it down. It doesn’t take him long to clean up. He washes his hands, then comes to stand by Adam at the door. “Shall we?”

“We shall,” Adam says, and lets Ronan lead him out. Swan is in Skov’s lap now, idly flicking through something on their phone as Skov kisses their neck. Adam looks away, feeling like he’s walked in on something. Ronan seems unaffected.

“Enjoy your date,” Swan says without looking up. Ronan flips them off anyway. 

“You work with an interesting lot,” Adam says once they're outside.

“I work with an annoying pack of horny bastards,” Ronan says, and it’s Adam’s turn to laugh. 

“Loud ones,” he says.

“Very loud ones,” Ronan agrees.

They go to a pizza place, because it’s close and it’s quick. They sit in a booth by the window. Ronan watches the people pass by with an angry looking expression Adam has come to learn is just his Resting Bitch Face.

“You never told me your favourite flower,” Adam says.

“Potatoes,” Ronan says, then grins broadly. Adam doesn’t get the joke. He tilts his head. “‘Cause I’m Irish?”

“I didn’t know you were Irish.”

“Well, Northern Irish.”

“Is there a difference?”

“My dad certainly said so.”

“Huh. I didn’t know.”

“Lynch.”

“Lots of people have different names. I don’t make assumptions.”

“Fair enough. Both my parents were from Northern Ireland. They moved shortly after my brother was born.”

“You have a brother?”

“Two.”

“Older or younger?”

“Both.”

“Middle child syndrome. That explains a lot.”

“Fuck off. What, are you the eldest?”

“Only. Sometimes I wished I had siblings, but I think it’s better I didn’t.”

“Why?”

Adam touches his left ear absently. Thinks of his father’s rage. His mother’s silent inaction.

“Just.” He doesn’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t want to be the boy who his father beat deaf in one ear. He’s not that boy anymore. He’s his own man now, free of them. “Does your family live nearby?”

“My brothers are up in Washington.”

“And your parents?”

“Dead.”

“Oh.” Adam is so aggressively caught off guard by that, that for a moment he flounders, wordless. Their server interrupts to set their pizza between them. Asks if they need anything else. “No, thank you.”

Adam forces a smile for her and waits until she leaves before looking back at Ronan, who is taking a bite as casual as anything.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I- well, no. I wouldn’t have asked if I- yeah.”

“It’s okay. It was a few years back now. It’s not fresh.”

“Do those kind of things get easier?”

“No, but you get used to it.” Ronan is quiet for a moment. Adam distracts himself by taking a piece of pizza, but he’s thinking about Ronan’s parents, wondering if they died at the same time or just near each other. Ronan takes his silence for the curiosity it is. “Car crash.”

“Shit.”

“It got written off as an accident, but we’re pretty sure someone staged it.”

Adam is not sure he can handle many more plot twists like this. 

“What? Why would you think that?”

“Dad had some dodgy dealings back home. Crossed some people. Tried to outrun them. They caught up. He didn’t really tell us about it, so it’s hard to put the pieces together, but, yeah. We’re pretty sure it was planned.”

“Wow. Ronan. That’s… that’s heavy.”

“Too heavy for lunch?”

“No. I asked. I shouldn’t have pried.”

“If I didn’t want you to know I just wouldn’t have answered.”

“Or you could have lied.”

“I don’t lie,” Ronan says, so firmly that Adam believes him. He feels guilty for avoiding his own truth when Ronan has been so outright with him. 

“Did you get along?”

“Yes.” Ronan looks confused. Like there could be no other answer to this. Adam rips the corner of a napkin, starts tearing it into smaller napkin confetti so he doesn’t have to look at Ronan.

“I didn’t get along with my parents. We don’t speak anymore. Haven’t since I left for college. It seems unfair, that you lost yours, and mine are still here but I don’t even talk to them.”

“There’s a reason for that.” It’s a statement. Not a question. The fact Ronan doesn’t ask for the reason, makes it easier for Adam to give it to him.

He tells him about his father. About his anger and his abuse. He tells him about his mother, sometimes backing his father up, but mostly a silent observer. Afraid for her own safety. Never defending Adam. Always telling him he should try harder not to upset his father.

Ronan bristles as he speaks, shoulders square and tense, but he doesn’t interrupt. There’s no pity in his face, either. Just anger. That makes it easier to meet his gaze. Makes it easier to tell him about losing the hearing in his left ear. About that being the final straw. About leaving for college and never looking back. 

“Good,” Ronan just says. There is a pile of shredded napkin in front of Adam. He folds his nervous fingers together now he has nothing left to tear between them. Ronan lays a hand on his arm; warm, solid. “They didn’t deserve you.”

Adam laughs, because he can feel a choked sob rising in his chest, and if he doesn’t laugh he might do something embarrassing like cry.

“Maybe. Anyway. Wow. I’ve turned this into a depression lunch, huh?”

“I mean, I opened with my dead parents, so I think it was a joint effort.”

Adam’s laugh is genuine this time. Soft, but genuine. Ronan’s expression softens slightly. His hand is still on Adam’s arm. He notices this with some surprise and quickly withdraws it. 

“Are potatoes really your favourite flower?”

“No. Obviously. They’re not flowers.”

“Not the root vegetable, no, but they do have flowers.”

“What? No.”

“Mhm. They blossom above the surface, with small green fruits. Kind of like tomatoes.”

“You’re having me on.”

“I’m not!” Adam pulls out his phone and Googles it. “See? They’re small, but pretty.”

“Shit.”

“Learn something new every day,” Adam says. Grinning as he takes his phone back. “But if that was a joke, do you have a serious answer?”

“Hm. I don’t know what they’re called, but they’re like, pink and purple. Upside down flowers. Petals at the top, little bell shape at the bottom.”

“Hm.” Adam shows him some pictures on his phone until he finds something similar. “Fuschias.”

“Yes. My ma liked those. Grew some of them around the house. I think they might be dying out now she’s gone, though. I don’t really know how to look after plants.”

“Hm. Depending on the variety the shrub might have needed to be dug up for the winter months. Or they might just need water.”

“Well, I like them. And foxgloves. And the flowers that grow in clusters. It’s a bush, but they sort of cluster together?”

“Hydrangea?”

“Yeah. She grew those as well.”

“They’re nice flowers.”

“Yeah.”

They pass the rest of their lunch just chatting about work. Ronan makes Adam laugh a few times, and when he’s patting away the water he laughed out his nose, he realises he can’t remember the last time he had a good, proper laugh like that.

*

Ronan walks Adam back to his shop, even though they technically pass the tattoo parlour first. Adam doesn’t mention this as Ronan continues with him to his door. Adam looks at him like he’s going to say something, but then he doesn’t. He unlocks the door and turns the sign back to open.

“Hope I didn’t miss too many customers,” he jokes.

“If you ever want to do lunch again, I could always bring food over. That way you wouldn’t have to close.”

“You don’t want to be stuck in here on your lunch.”

“Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t want to.”

Adam purses his lips as he considers that, and Ronan looks away to stop himself from doing something stupid like trying to kiss him.

“Okay. That would be nice. Only if we split paying, though. Or it defeats the purpose of me paying you back for coffee.”

Ronan rolls his eyes.

“If it’s so important for you, we can take it in turns.”

“Deal.” Adam holds out a hand and for a moment Ronan can only stare, so struck by déjà vu from his dream it takes him a moment to remember he’s awake. He takes Adam’s hand carefully; not wanting to seem too familiar with holding it. They shake. Ronan is reluctant to let go. Adam’s fingers graze his palm as their hands slide apart, and Ronan burns with longing right to his core. 

“Deal,”’ he says, and even to his own ears he can hear how husky his voice is. He clears his throat. “I gotta head back, but… it would probably be easier to arrange this if you had my number.”

Adam smiles, slow and sly, and Ronan is hit with a whole new wave of attraction. He wants to know every expression. Wants to catalogue what every emotion looks like on Adam’s face. Wants to learn what earns each of his brief smiles.

“It probably would,” Adam says. He opens his phone to contacts and offers it to Ronan. Ronan types his number in, saves himself under Potato Flower, and hands it back. Adam laughs at that. It bursts out of him like a surprise he’s not quick enough to catch. Ronan is fiercely proud of every laugh he wins from Adam Parrish. 

He texts Ronan a flower emoji.

“Now you have my number, too.”

“Cool. I’ll see you around, then. Thanks for lunch.”

“No problem. Have a good afternoon.”

Ronan nods. Adam gives him one last brief flash of smile. Ronan turns and almost walks into the fucking door on his way out, but even that isn’t enough to ruin his good mood. 

He heads back to the shop, tells Swan and Skov to fuck off when they ask how his “date” went, and doesn’t stop until he has his studio door closed behind him. Only then does he allow himself a little fist pump of victory for finally giving Adam his number.

*

Ronan has never looked at his phone so much in his life. He’s even taken to texting Matthew _full sentences_ as an excuse to have it in his hand for longer. It’s stupid. They exchanged numbers to arrange lunch, but he keeps hoping Adam will text randomly anyway.

“Ugh.” Ronan puts a palm to his temple and pushes his own head to look away, jamming the phone in his pocket. Stupid. He’s not some teen with a crush. 

He does his rounds of the Barns and only checks his phone twice. (Well okay, three times. But he was changing a song the third time. It doesn’t count.)

*

Adam has a headache. This is not a new occurrence. Adam Parrish is made up of muscles and organs, synapses and nerves, and sheer, undiluted stress. He’s lucky if a day passes without a tension headache.

It is not the headache that is particularly annoying him. He’s used to those by now. It is the thumping bass reverberating through his shop wall, sending pulses of sharp pain through his temple, that he finds just oh so very aggravating.

Adam takes some pain meds. Slams his glass of water down against the counter top after he swallows with such force it’s a surprise it doesn’t crack. The thwack of contact is satisfying to his anger, but unproductive to his aching head.

He considers storming over, but how little impact that had the first time puts him off. Adam sighs, drags a hand through his hair, then takes out his phone. He opens it to the chat where the only message is a flower emoji. Taps his finger against the side of his phone.

Adam does not, as a rule, like to ask for things. Not for help, not for favours. He is independent to a fault. Self created and self sustaining. Asking for help is weakness, is vulnerable, is admitting he is incapable. Adam does not like to be incapable. 

He sighs. Presses his index and middle finger to his right ear. He can still feel the pulse, still hear the electric rumble of it.

_Loud today._

He sends it before he can second guess himself. It’s not really asking anything. It’s just a statement. Just an observation. Just passive aggressive complaint wrapped neatly in a brief text.

There’s no reply. Adam supposes Ronan might be with a client. He takes another drink of water, fingers tense around the glass.

The rumbling stops.

Adam freezes with the glass still pressed to his lips. Tilts his right ear towards the wall and strains. Distantly, he can still hear it, but no longer pulsing through his wall. He smiles. Sets his glass down a lot softer this time.

*

“And keep it down,” Ronan says, standing over Skov, who raises a brow at him, unimpressed.

“Just had to ask, bro.”

“If I just had to ask you wouldn’t keep turning it up again.”

“I have a bad memory,” Skov says, but he grins like a shithead. “Parrish could just ask me himself.”

Ronan snarls, and turns on his heel out of the room. He can hear Skov laughing behind him. He looks at his phone again. As much as he wanted Adam to text, he feels like his action was a reply. Has no words to text back.

In the end he just sends a potato emoji. Adam returns a laughing face. It’s not quite as good as hearing him laugh, but it still makes Ronan’s chest feel warm and light. 

*

Adam has lunch with Ronan twice that week. Then three times the next week. He doesn’t usually eat out so much. It is a frivolity he can’t really afford, but he likes having someone to talk to. He hasn’t had someone to just hang out with since his college days, and Ronan makes surprisingly good company. Despite his often surly expression, he’s a lot funnier than Adam expected. Rarely laughs himself. Just the odd huff or brief quirk of a smile, but more and more often his words surprise genuine bubbling bursts of laughter out of Adam before he can control them. Before he can filter and refine them.

He can’t remember the last time he laughed like that, and when Ronan gives him a side glance with those steely blue eyes and that wry smile, the shame of being unconfined recedes. He doesn’t need to shelter or hide. Doesn’t need to fit himself into some frame for Ronan’s approval. Doesn’t have to make himself feel small.

Ronan is unapologetically Ronan, even when it makes him seem rude or standoffish (Adam realises this is usually just indifference rather than intended rudeness). He makes Adam feel like maybe he can be unapologetically Adam, too. He’s not sure he’s quite got the courage yet, but everyday he feels a little closer.

*

Ronan does not look like a particularly pious man when in chapel. He sits on a half empty pew near the back, knees splayed, his joined hands between them, wrist resting against the wood of the bench. Two of his fingers and the centre of his forehead still damp with holy water.

He only gets the odd stare. Visitors or relatives joining them for a one off service, but the regulars know him by now, know all the Lynch brothers. They give reprimanding looks to the newcomers. Ronan is as constant a fixture here as the Stations of the Cross showing their bloody grief on the walls, as the rich and heavy scent of incense cloying and sweet in the air, as the crucified Christ hanging above the altar with his sculpted six pack abs.

Every chapel he’s ever been to, they always make Christ built as fuck. Built and White. _Thou shalt not worship false idols_ , and yet they all kneel before this imposter. 

Ronan stares at that sculpted body and wonders with some horror if that’s where his dreams have been pulling the image for Adam’s torso. 

*

_Lunch?_

Adam stares at the text. Simple. Familiar. Ronan sent it early, probably before a morning client to give Adam plenty of time to respond. He chews his lower lip. He wants to see Ronan, but he really needs to start saving money. His business is only just finding its feet.

 _Not hungry, but you’re free to come over_ , he eventually texts. He’ll just snack on something after Ronan leaves.

Ronan shows up with two sandwiches.

“You might get hungry later.”

“Ah.” Adam tries for a grateful smile. “How much do I-“

“It’s just a sandwich, Parrish.”

“It’s not- It’s the principle.”

“The principle is that you’re a small business owner, and I’m a rich prick who works for a hobby. Eat the sandwich.”

“I don’t take handouts.”

“Good thing it’s a sandwich, then.”

“Ronan.”

“Parrish.”

“Lynch.”

“Parrish?”

“This is ridiculous.”

“Thank you for agreeing.” Ronan slides the sandwich towards him purposefully. It does smell good. Adam’s stomach, an absolute traitor, rumbles. Ronan grins, sharp and impish. “Thought so.”

“I don’t need a sugar daddy,” Adam says, and watches as Ronan promptly chokes on his sandwich. It’s funny for the first twenty seconds. When Ronan doesn’t stop coughing it gets a little less funny. Adam stands and slaps him on the back even though he doesn’t think that’s actually helpful. He doesn’t know what else to do.

“Jesus fuck,” Ronan says.

“All good?”

“Yeah.” Ronan takes a long sip of his energy drink. For all his comments about Adam’s sugary coffee, Adam doesn’t think he’s much better. He’s definitely not buying the ZERO SUGAR emblazoned on the can. “Fuck. It’s not- it’s just- haven’t you had friends before?”

Ronan seems frustrated at himself, like he can’t find the right words. Adam’s curious. He’s never seen Ronan like that.

“I have.”

“Did you always pitch a fit when someone tried to give you something?”

“Usually.” Adam smiles. It’s not exactly a happy smile. “I don’t like owing people.”

“You don’t owe me.”

“Feels like it.”

“That’s a problem with your attitude. Don’t project it onto my behaviour.”

Adam is slack jawed at that. He looks away abruptly, cheeks burning. No one has ever phrased it like that before, and the self righteous flame within him flickers, unsure.

“I like having lunch with you. If you’ll let me hang out here, I can bring the food. Seems like a fair trade off.”

It’s not, but Ronan’s extending him an offer. Letting him pretend he’s hosting to feel better about himself. Adam still feels small and embarrassed, but he also feels _seen._ The twisted little parts of himself he tucks away deep inside, pushes into shadows. He feels like Ronan has just stared right into them, unblinking, unphased.

He’s not entirely sure how he feels about that.

“Okay,” he says, because his thoughts are racing too fast to argue.

“I’ll still text ahead, so if you’re not in the mood you can tell me to fuck off.”

Adam smiles at that. Automatic reaction to how distinctly _Ronan_ it is.

“Okay,” he says again, and sounds more like himself.

*

“Macaroni, you’ve been spending so much time outside. I miss you,” Kavinsky says. The sincerity of it is undermined by the baby voice he says it in. 

Ronan rolls his eyes, starts to walk past, but Kavinsky is sitting where the counter opens, his legs dangling over the edge. He catches Ronan between them when he tries to pass. Tightens his legs around Ronan and pulls him in closer to drape his arms around his shoulders too. He presses his nose beneath Ronan’s ear. It feels too close, too _intimate_.

He’s not even dating anyone, but it feels like cheating.

“Let me go.”

“You smell funny. Usually you smell like earth and leather.”

“That’s creepy as fuck, Kavinsky.”

“But there’s something different lately. Something… _floral_.”

“Good job, Blues Clues. You can literally see me through the fucking window.”

Kavinsky tightens his legs. His heels dig into the back of Ronan’s thighs. He twists the ring in the top of Ronan’s ear. Unlike when Chainsaw does it, Ronan bristles with annoyance.

“I don’t like to share,” Kavinsky says. Low. Breath hot against Ronan’s ear.

“Surprising, considering the gangbang situation you’ve got-“

Kavinsky catches his jaw. Bony fingers press hard into Ronan’s cheeks. Squeezing tighter and tighter. His gaze bores into Ronan; hollow, empty, just waiting for him to cry out. Ronan grits his teeth and refuses to react.

“I’ve been thinking. It’s about time you take my mark.”

Ronan knows what that means. The rest of the pack are all branded. A tattooed K. Skov, Swan, and Jiang all have theirs above their ankles. Proko has his on the back of his neck like a fucking barcode. Like Andy, Kavinsky likes to write his claim on his toys.

“I’m not yours. I never will be.”

“I could make you get it. Drug you. Or just have the boys hold you down. Gag you. Or maybe I’d like to hear you curse me out.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

“Such confidence.”

“You wouldn’t, because I would leave, and I would never come back.”

Kavinsky lets go of his jaw with a sigh. His legs loosen around Ronan’s waist.

“You’re no fun, Lynch. We welcome you in, make you one of us-“

“I am not one of you,” Ronan says, slow, with purpose. “I will not be one of you.”

Kavinsky yawns in his face. Ronan shoves his chest. He falls back on the counter, propped on his elbows, and grins. 

“Thinking of getting another tat soon. On my ass.”

“Fuck you,” Ronan says, and slams the door to his studio.

*

“Your face.”

“Hm?”

Adam reaches out, fingers brushing gently against Ronan’s cheek. Ronan tenses at his touch, expression guarded.

“What happened?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Someone did this to you.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Ronan.”

“It’s not- it’s not like you think it is,” Ronan says. Adam’s brow furrows, then his mouth pops open in an ‘o’ of surprise.

“Oh. I see.”

“What?”

“Nothing, I get it.”

Ronan narrows his eyes at him.

“Do you?”

“Mhm.”

“Right.”

“It’s cool. I mean, fine- it’s, fine. Whatever you’re into, right? Your business.”

“What?”

“What?”

“Wait. Do you think-?”

“Isn’t it?”

“No. Jesus, Parrish. No. God, no.”

“Oh. I just- the way you said.”

“The way I said it made you think I like to be manhandled?”

“Some people do!”

There’s a beat of silence between them. Despite the heat in his cheeks, Adam wants to laugh very, very badly. He can feel it rising up in his chest. Swelling like a helium balloon. His lips twitch, trying to fight back a smile. Ronan’s eyes move to his lips. His own mouth twitches. 

They burst out laughing simultaneously. Adam laughs until there are tear tracks on his cheeks, bent over, holding onto Ronan’s arm for support. Ronan stops laughing first. Adam slowly looks up, breathless, and he is so much closer than he thought.

He can see, in sharp detail, Ronan’s 5 o’clock shadow already coming in at midday. The chapped skin of his lower lip. The way his nostrils flare when he inhales. How pretty his eyes actually are up close. Not just flat, cold blue, but a ring of darker blue fading into a cooler centre, little flecks of light that from a distance make them look so pale. He leans closer without thinking, captivated by those eyes.

Ronan tenses beneath him, and Adam realises what he’s doing. He sits back with a jolt. Rubs the back of his neck, sheepish.

“Wrong on all accounts, then,” he says. Though he’s not sure how many other ways there are to get someone’s fingerprints bruised into your skin.

“Kavinsky was just fucking around and took it too far. As always.” 

“Right,” Adam says. Ronan doesn’t talk about Kavinsky at length. Just little bits and pieces here and there. He complains plenty about Skov, Jiang, Swan; complains in a way that has a hidden, reluctant affection beneath it. When he talks about Kavinsky it’s just brief, guarded. Adam doesn’t know how he really feels about him.

What Adam does know for a fact, is that he hates Kavinsky. 

He touches Ronan’s cheek again. Softer. Ronan shies back, like a wary animal. Cautious, but still willing to bite. 

Then Adam drops his hand back to his lap, and they don’t mention it again.

*

Ronan checks his phone before bed and finds a new influx of photos from Gansey. Of a large, botanical garden. Variations of the three of them beside big plants towering over them. Artistic photos of Sargent admiring flowers with the light falling in strips across her. Ronan rolls his eyes at those one, but he appreciates the angle, the composition, the colours. He does not tell Gansey this.

_Nice petunias._

**_???_ **

**_You know flowers now?_ **

_Made friends with a florist_

**_Haha_ **

**_Have you taken up gardening?_ **

_No. I have literally befriended a florist._

**_:o_ **

**Incoming Call: Gansey**

“What?” Ronan says. 

“You made a friend!”

“Bye, dad.”

“No, don’t hang up!”

“Did he bribe them?” Sargent says in the background. Ronan hates to admit it, but hearing her voice makes him smile a little. “Can’t have been his winning personality.”

“Won you over,” Ronan says.

“He says he won you over,” Gansey repeats.

“Barely!”

Ronan hears Gansey gently hush her, and then footsteps as he moves away to take the call.

“A florist?”

“Yeah. Guy opened shop next to the parlour.”

“A _guy?_ ”

Ronan hears a distant _oooohh!_ he assumes is Cheng, followed by joint giggles from him and Sargent.

“I’m friends with a lot of guys. That’s kind of homophobic.”

“It’s not. Is it?”

“It could be.”

“So just a friend then?”

“I’m going to hang up now.”

“You’re not. You’ve missed me too much.”

“Click.”

“Funny. For real, though, I’m glad you have someone. You know, a normal person. Outside of Kavinsky’s lot.”

“You don’t know that he’s a normal person.”

“Is he?”

“Are we?”

“...Fair.”

“Do you know potatoes have flowers?”

“What?”

“And fruit that grows above ground.”

“No!”

“He taught me that.”

“Are you sure it was true?”

“Google it.”

He hears Gansey type in the background.

“Well, I‘ll be,” he says. “Potato flowers.”

“Tell me about your trip,” Ronan says, because he doesn’t want to answer any more questions. Adam is his. A part of his life separate from his brothers, separate from his job, separate from Kavinsky. He feels strangely possessive of the details of their friendship.

“Oh, Ronan, this week has been amazing. You won’t believe-“

Gansey talks for half an hour. Ronan falls asleep with the comfort of his voice still fresh in his mind.

*

“Do you ever get a day off?” Ronan asks. He’s watching Adam absently fold a napkin into an origami swan. It’s a bit of sad looking, lopsided swan, but Ronan is enjoying watching his fingers work all the same.

“Uh. Not really at the minute. Maybe when things pick up a bit I’ll pick a day to close, but… I guess I don’t want to miss anyone by closing. I’d still be working on orders anyway, so I might as well just keep the shop open.”

“You’re going to burn out.”

“I’ve been burning myself out for years. At least now it’s for something I actually want.”

Ronan presses his joined hands to his mouth to hide his smile. He loves this side of Adam. Dedicated, committed, ambitious. Can see his fire and his drive constantly. He works harder than anyone Ronan has ever known, and despite constantly looking exhausted, he never complains.

“An evening off, then. You get any of those?”

Adam pulls a face.

“Don’t tell me you spend your nights working too.”

“Well! If I’m just watching TV or something, there’s no reason to have idle hands.”

“We’re going for a drive.”

“What?”

“Saturday night. We’re going for a drive.”

“Where to?”

“You’ll see.”

“That’s 100% the kind of thing a serial killer says. Are you going to Ted Bundy me?”

“You’ll see.”

Adam laughs, brief and bright. The smile stays on his face afterwards. Soft, genuine, unguarded. Ronan wants to trace it with his fingertips. Wants to press the shape of his lips to that smile. Ronan wants, and wants, and wants.

Adam looks at him, looking at Adam, and Ronan wonders if he knows. Wonders if he can see it when he looks in Ronan’s eyes. How much he aches for him like some pining lead in a stupid romantic comedy. He’d thought they were exaggerated. He’s starting to wonder if he was wrong.

“Wear a jacket, and shoes you can walk in.”

*

Adam is sitting on the self warming seat of Ronan’s sleek, black BMW, feeling his ass getting increasingly toasty as the trees blur by outside. 

“I take back what I said about the seats being extravagant and unnecessary. This is actually easing my back pain.”

“Alright, grandpa.”

“As if you can talk with your popping knees.”

Ronan flips him off. Adam thinks perhaps at the speed they’re going, Ronan should keep both hands on the steering wheel. He pats his hands on his thighs. Ronan’s car had been rumbling with loud music when he showed up, but he turned it down low before Adam got in.

“Do I get to know where we’re going yet?” Adam asks, as Ronan takes another turn into a small country road. 

“You’ll know when we get there.”

“My murder concerns grow.”

“Do you trust me?”

There’s a beat. Adam doesn’t know if he should, but he knows that he does. Completely. Already. He’s not sure anyone has ever totally won his trust before, but when Ronan asks, he’s already nodding before he fully processes it.

“Yes.”

“Then stop asking.”

“Okay.”

Adam leans back in his chair, sighing as the heat of it soaks into him. He tilts his head and watches the trees come closer together now. Ahead he can see a whole stretch of them, clumping into a forest.

The BMW bumps along as they leave the country road for a forest one.

“Are you sure we’re allowed to drive here?”

Ronan doesn’t answer. Adam holds the door as the car bounces and wobbles. Finally the road opens up into a muddy clearing, a makeshift parking lot. There’s an old wooden post, half an arrow painted on it that’s faded with age and the weather, pointing towards an old wooden gate leading up a tree lined path.

“Come on,” Ronan says, and gets out.

“I was just getting used to the seats,” Adam says, but he follows. Ronan gets a backpack out of the trunk, swings it over his shoulders, and starts to walk. 

The wooden gate looks at risk of falling off its hinges if moved, so they climb over the rock wall beside it instead. Ronan offers Adam his arm, and Adam leans on it and hops down before his mind even has time to think _I don’t need help_. 

“Ground can be a bit uneven, but it should be dry after last week. Just don’t fall on your face.”

“Try my best,” Adam says, jogging to catch up with Ronan’s longer stride.

It’s dark between the trees. The last rays of evening sun poking through the branches to guide them along what was maybe once a dirt path, but is now overgrown with grass and weeds. Sticks crackle beneath their feet. They don’t speak, just walk together through the sounds of the forest. Trees whispering as the wind rustles their branches together. Small animals moving in the foliage. It smells fresh in a way that is different from Adam’s shop, but still good.

The trees thin out as the path starts to rise at the foot of the mountains. Adam’s calves burn as the ground becomes steeper, and his breathing gets more laboured. He does need to get out more. He’s getting out of shape. Ronan seems unaffected, stepping with the same steady pace. Adam pushes himself harder to keep up and his legs ache.

“I didn’t realise we were going hiking.”

“Not really hiking,” Ronan says. “Not far now.”

After another minute he looks back at Adam, flushed and breathing heavy now.

“Do we need to go slower?”

“No. I’m okay.” The breathless tone of his voice contradicts him. Ronan’s mouth twitches. 

“Your back acting up?”

“Shut up.” Adam punches him in the bicep. Ronan laughs and hooks his arm through Adam’s, half dragging him forward again. Adam wriggles free with an indignant huff. “I can manage it.”

“Okay.”

The ground gets rockier for a bit. They have to pick their way up over uneven terrain, but then they reach a stretch of mostly grass sprinkled with a few boulders and a couple of trees that look sad and small in comparison to the forest they’ve left behind. Ronan stops here, where there’s a flat patch of ground. He crouches and presses his palms to the grass to test the dampness of it, nodding his approval before he pulls a blanket from his backpack and spreads it on the grass.

“Sit,” he says. Confused, Adam sits. Ronan continues to dig things out of his backpack. A flask filled with coffee for Adam. Little tubs of chopped fruit. A box of donuts.

“A picnic?”

“Not really a picnic.”

“We’re sitting on a blanket. Outside. With food. That’s the definition of a picnic,” Adam says. “This isn’t what I was expecting.”

“A step up from being murdered?”

“Quite a few steps.”

Ronan asks him about work, and Adam only means to give a vague summary but ends up ranting about a particularly annoying customer. It’s only when the sky darkens around them he realises how long he’s been talking and abruptly presses his lips shut.

“I’m ranting. You should have stopped me.”

“I was listening.”

“Yeah, well.”

“I like listening to you. It doesn’t matter what you’re saying.” Ronan says it in an offhand kind of way, but he looks away from Adam. Toying with the leather bands on his wrist. 

“It’s nice up here.”

“Look up,” Ronan says. Adam does, and his lips part in silent awe. It’s not fully dark yet, but already the sky is splattered with stars. Twinkling lights in every direction he looks. The moon hanging bright and almost full among them.

“Oh. Ronan. They’re beautiful.” He glances across at Ronan, but finds him staring at him instead, the barest hint of a soft smile on his face. Adam’s stomach twists in a nervous, excited kind of way. He has only ever dated girls before, and he has learned a quiet confidence in making moves with them, but he does not know where to start with Ronan. He is frozen beneath that gaze.

Then Ronan leans across and kisses him.

*

Adam’s lips are softer than he was expecting. A little dry, but soft. Ronan can feel the brush of his nose against his, the soft exhale of air against his upper lip. It’s a brief kiss, just a chaste press of lips that lingers for a few seconds, but it burns through him like a forest fire.

He sits back. Watches Adam for a moment, until the lack of response is unbearable. Then he looks to the bands on his wrist. Tugs them. Resists the urge to chew on them. He sees Adam’s arm move in his peripheral. His fingers raise to touch his mouth, stop halfway, then his hand drops to his lap. 

“Ronan.”

Ronan looks at him again. Adam’s hand comes to his jaw. His long fingers slide up to Ronan’s ear. His palm is warm where it cups his jaw bone. He strokes his thumb feather light against the lobe of Ronan’s ear, and Ronan shivers.

This time, Adam kisses him.

His kiss is firmer. Ronan’s kiss was a question; Adam’s kiss is an answer. When he parts his lips, Ronan follows his lead. He makes a soft, barely audible sound when Adam’s tongue touches his lower lip, traces the shape of it. He can feel Adam’s smile against his lips; Adam’s wonderful, beautiful smile. Ronan cups his elbow with his hand and holds on like he’s a lifeline. 

“Ronan,” Adam says again. Ronan can feel the shape of it against his mouth. The slightly breathy tone of Adam’s voice feels like his undoing, like it’s getting right into the seams of him and loosening them. Ronan swallows.

“Parrish.”

“Call me Adam.”

“Adam.”

This time, Adam’s tongue presses past Ronan’s lips and into his mouth. It brushes against Ronan’s tongue, and Ronan’s head spins. The world feels off kilter. Adam kisses him like he does most things; quietly self assured, and Ronan is lost. His only frame of reference for this was kissing Kavinsky, and they are so vastly different he doesn’t feel they can be categorized in the same experience.

Only when Adam draws back does Ronan realise he hasn’t taken a breath for long enough that his lungs are aching. He gasps air in, and Adam laughs like he’s being charming and not a disaster gay.

“I kissed you breathless. Cute.” 

“This is the part where I murder you.”

“Oh well.” There’s a beat, then Adam lays his fingers over Ronan’s between them on the blanket. “Worth it.”

Ronan’s aches with affection in a way he thought previously preserved only for Matthew.

“So, is this a date?” Adam asks. So cool and casual, while the tops of Ronan’s ears burn.

“Not intentionally.”

“You just accidentally kissed me.”

“It is very difficult not to kiss you.”

Adam smiles, an edge of self depreciation to it, but he keeps whatever thoughts go with that smile quiet.

“If this were a date, I’d say it’s the best first date I’ve ever been on.”

“I’d say that’s not bad for my first try.”

Adam looks at him, eyes narrow and serious. He raises a brow. Ronan stares back, expression neutral. After a moment, Adam tilts his head.

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

“That’s a lot to live up to.”

“How is nothing a lot to live up to?”

“Never mind. Are you sure?”

“Absolutely positive,” Ronan says. He does not add: _ever since you first got angry with me in that coffee shop_ , but he thinks it.

Then they are kissing again, and all he can think is _Adam_.

*

“Do you know about the stars?”

“Not much.”

“Tell me about them. Or make it up. I won’t know the difference.” 

They’ve eaten and moved the containers aside, so Adam can sit closer to Ronan. Easier for their kissing, but now they’re cradling their warm drinks (tea for Ronan) and looking at the sky together.

“Do you know your starsign?”

“Aren’t you supposed to ask my sign before you kiss me?”

Ronan huffs his little amused exhale. Adam smiles and bumps their shoulders together.

“Cancer,” he says.

“Oh. It should be visible then…. Yeah, I can’t pick them out for shit. I’m gonna cheat.”

“Cheat?”

Ronan taps away on his phone for a minute while Adam waits, curious. Then he aims it up at the sky. On the screen are the stars that are above them, but with annotated names, and the shapes of constellations drawn over them. 

“Oh. That is cheating,” Adam says. Ronan moves the phone around until he finds the one labelled Cancer.

“There. It’s like an upside down Y shape.”

“I thought it was meant to be a crab.”

“Yeah. I don’t know how they get the shapes out of them.”

“What’s yours?”

“Scorpio. You can’t see it this time of year.”

“A scorpion and a crab.”

“Except you’re just an upside down Y.”

“Shut up.” 

“Make me.” 

Adam does. Kissing Ronan is new and exciting and intoxicating, so he’s happy to take any opportunity to do it. The slight flush of Ronan’s cheeks when he draws back again is a nice bonus.

They play around with Ronan’s phone and looking at the different constellations for a while before he tucks it away and they just enjoy the stars for what they are. When Adam hugs his arms around himself from the slight chill, Ronan shrugs his jacket off.

“No. You’ll get cold,” Adam says. Ronan throws it at his head. “I have my own jacket!”

“It’s clearly not doing a good enough job.”

After a bit of back and forth arguing, they end up lying close together on the blanket with Ronan’s jacket laid over them. Pressed this close to him, all Adam can smell is leather, earth, something heady and musky- patchouli, perhaps? With sandalwood - that must be his deodorant. He inhales deep, then lets out a contented sigh. Ronan’s fingers are toying with the ends of Adam’s hair.

“No one’s ever done anything like this for me before,” Adam says after a while. When Ronan doesn’t say anything in response, he continues: “Maybe I was expected to do it. As the guy. Societal expectations and all that.”

“Stupid,” Ronan says. Adam smiles.

“Yes. It is. I think I’m trying to say thank you.”

“You think?”

“I am.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I want to. It’s been good to get out. It’s been good to _move_. The most walking I do lately is round the store. It’s been good to get fresh air, and…”

“And?”

Adam rolls onto his stomach and hovers over Ronan. Ronan blinks his pretty lashes, coal black against his pale skin. From the light of the moon, he can just make out the splatter of freckles across Ronan’s nose. He wants to kiss them, but he feels that kind of soft affection is a later date action. So he just kisses Ronan’s mouth instead.

While Ronan had been hesitant at first, mostly just responding to Adam, his mouth parts eagerly beneath him now. He licks his way into Adam’s mouth and Adam hums, propping himself on an elbow by Ronan’s head. Ronan’s hand slides through his hair, tangling and holding, but not pulling. Adam splays his fingers over the side of Ronan’s throat and feels his Adam’s Apple move beneath his thumb. 

Adam quickly forgets about the cold.

*

The walk down is somehow more perilous than the walk up was. They’re using the light of their cell phones to help guide them, but the rocky ground throws confusing shadows. Adam keeps catching the toes of his sneakers on rocks and stumbling. Ronan, in boots that are much more suited to this expedition, seems amused, but always offers Adam an arm to steady himself on again. He’s glad when they’re back on flat land. 

The dark forest path should be eerie, with its shifting shadows and creaking branches, but it feels magical to Adam. Secretive and special. He’s probably biased. He’s feeling light and giddy from kissing Ronan, even after he almost sprained his ankle twice on rocks. Everything feels kind of magical right now.

He’s glad when the rock wall and rotting wooden gate come into view, all the same. His legs ache from exertion they’re not used to, and the memory of Ronan’s heated seats on his sore tailbone has him excited to sink into the car again.

He watches Ronan drive on the way back. The moonlight falling through the windscreen on his face casting him in an ethereal glow. His skin looks like marble in the dim light. Like an angry, triumphant statue in an art gallery. Except for when he glances across and sees Adam watching him. Then the anger melts away into a smile. 

*

That night Ronan dreams of walking through a field of stars. Lights that shimmer and shift and dance around him. Adam is in the centre of them, dressed in pale moonlight. Beams of it hanging off his frame like draping fabric. Ronan walks towards him, clad in the darkness of the night sky. The stars cluster around them as he gets closer.

Adam reaches out a hand. Ronan takes it. Adam steps closer. He loops his arms around Ronan’s shoulders, cloaks him in moonlight too. When they kiss, it feels like static.

*

Ronan wakes with a dopey smile on his face. He immediately scowls to get rid of it, but he’s smiling again at the memory of last night before he’s even made it to the bathroom. 

He feeds Chainsaw her morning crackers, and when she flaps over to his shoulder to play with his piercings, he turns his head and presses his face into her feathers. Soaking in affection for her, for Adam, for everyone that has ever earned his love.

“Caw?”

“Chainsaw, you wouldn’t believe the night I had.”

“Kraw!”

“Even better.”

He has to keep biting the inside of his lip to stop from smiling in mass every time he remembers Adam’s elegant hand on his neck, Adam’s rare and precious smile, Adam leaning in and closing the distance between them.

_Good morning. Thanks again for last night. We doing lunch on Monday?_

It’s the longest text Adam’s ever sent him. Even that makes Ronan smile.

_Yeah._

Ronan texts. _Can’t wait_ , he thinks.

*

Lunch mostly turns out to be Adam taking Ronan to the store room at the back to make out. He backs Ronan against one of the counters, pinning him against it with narrow hips, and kisses him until they’re both breathless. Ronan thinks, distantly, he’s going to have some wild associations with the smell of fresh flowers if this keeps up.

He turns them so Adam is against the counter, then lifts him beneath the thighs and sets him on the countertop so their height is more aligned. Leaning hands on either side of Adam’s hips, he cages him in. Adam, clutching the front of Ronan’s shirt as he sucks on his lower lip, doesn’t complain.

His mouth trails away from Ronan’s and down along his jaw. Ronan stills, not from discomfort, but curiosity. He tilts his head away when Adam starts mouthing at his throat. Then Adam’s tongue presses over his pulse point and Ronan makes a noise that surprises even him.

“Hm,” Adam hums thoughtfully, then does it again. Ronan’s knees feel weak. Adam presses his mouth to his skin, hot and wet, and flicks his tongue to the rhythm of Ronan’s pulse. Ronan whimpers; a sound more desperate than he ever thought he was capable of.

The bell above the shop door tinkles.

“Damn,” says Adam. He presses a last, sweet kiss to Ronan’s neck. “To be continued.”

Ronan stays in the back an extra minute to compose himself.

*

Adam’s not sure if he’s more annoyed or relieved for the interruption. On one hand, he was really enjoying taking Ronan apart. On the other hand, if Ronan had of kept making those noises that were sending liquid heat down through Adam’s stomach, he might have sucked him off right in the store room. Which probably isn’t a great move from a business perspective. Very unprofessional of him.

They actually eat their lunch after Adam sees to his customer. Sat close together behind the counter with their knees pressing against each other. Before he leaves, Ronan presses a hot and solid kiss to Adam’s mouth and gives the back of his neck a firm squeeze. Adam’s lips tingle with the memory of it for a half hour.

*

Ronan is met with the sight of Swan’s ass in the air when he gets back.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Right now? Downward dog,” Swan says. They lean down further between their arms, back a curve, before straightening again.

“Let me change the question. Why the fuck are you doing it here?”

“Skov has a client in our room.”

“So?”

“Jiang’s with someone too, and Proko’s sucking K off.”

“I still don’t see a point here.”

Swan looks forward, then kicks off the ground. Their legs press up against their ribs and they hover for a moment, before their feet land between their hands, body folded over.

“It's really quite an oh so lovely view, but a bit distracting when I’m trying to practice. Your room was empty.”

“It’s not now.”

“You don’t have an appointment until later.”

“Out.”

“Twenty more minutes and I’ll be done.”

Ronan rolls his eyes. He bumps Swan with his hip as he passes them. Swan sways, but doesn’t fall out of their pose.

“I want you gone in ten,” Ronan says.

“Fifteen it is.” Swan comes up slowly and stretches their arms above their head. “I could teach you. It might serve you to be more flexible.”

“Fuck off.”

Swan laughs as they lift their right foot and press it to their left thigh, arms still raised above their head. Ronan hates how fucking elegant and at ease they look. 

“How’s Adam?” They ask after a moment. Ronan throws a notebook at them, and this time they do fall out of their pose, laughing. They shake out their left leg, and shift their weight onto their right to do the other side. The amusement slowly drains from their face. “Have you spoken to K?”

“About what?”

“Oh, Lynch, come on. Adam.”

“It’s none of his business.”

“You know he won’t see it that way.”

“I don’t owe him anything,” Ronan says, annoyed. He snatches his flung notepad off the floor. Swan follows him with their eyes.

“Is it anything?”

 _It’s everything_ , Ronan thinks.

“It’s none of your business,” he says. Swan sighs. They drop their right foot and shake their left leg out, before sinking into a low squat.

“If anyone asks, this conversation didn’t happen.”

“There hasn’t been any conversation.”

“Ronan.” Swan’s tone is urgent and serious. They look at him until Ronan looks back. “This isn’t just you. Adam’s in the fallout splash zone of K’s anger. If you care about him, you’ll want to handle this with a little more caution than you do most things.”

“Is that what you do with Skov?” Ronan asks.

“We’re different.”

“How?”

“We’re our own thing, but we’re also part of the pack. We don’t fight K on that.” There’s an accusation in their voice, but Ronan ignores it. He watches as Swan presses their hands to their mat and lifts their legs into a hovering crow pose.

“Why do you do it?”

“I don’t know if I can explain it if you don’t get it. I love them. All of them. And… we do all owe Kavinsky something. He’s helped us all in one way or another.” Swan’s arms quiver just barely beneath them. Their body sways, then steadies again. Ronan’s arms feel tired just watching them. “But I don’t stay because of a debt. He has my loyalty, and my commitment.”

“More than Skov?”

Swan smiles. Their feet come back to earth with a little thud. 

“No. He’s a whole separate thing for me, but I didn’t say that, either.”

“You’re afraid.”

“A little.”

“How can you love someone you’re afraid of?”

“Oh, Ronan.” Swan smiles as they sit, feet pressed together and knees spread wide. They shake their head at him, hands clasped around their feet, then lean forward.

“That wasn’t an answer.”

“Sometimes there are no answers. Just feelings.”

*

It’s been awhile since Ronan’s had a nightmare. After his parents’ death, he had chronic nightmares. Barely slept a full night. 

He had found the car in the ditch. A few miles from the Barns. The road covered in skid marks, the car a shattered and smoking thing. He hadn’t realised it was them at first. Even when he recognised the car, he didn’t believe it. Even when he’d pulled open the door and had his mother’s hand in his; lifeless and bloody from the broken glass, cold against his skin, against the life that thrived in him, that she had given him. Part of him, childish and desperate, had hoped they could be saved.

It was a straight road. His father was a good driver. 

_Unfortunate accident_ , they said. Ronan never believed it. 

For nights he had seen them. The scene around them changing. Sometimes they weren’t in the car, but in the house. Sat together on the couch with their dead eyes staring ahead. Sometimes they were in the backseat of his inherited BMW. Sometimes they were in the forest. And sometimes they were just in distorted horror scenes his twisted imagination built around them. 

He had been a crumbling wreck of himself. Grief and sleep deprivation tearing him apart at the seams. Drinking himself to oblivion just so he wouldn’t dream.

This isn’t a nightmare just yet, but it feels like one. He’s on the mountainside again, but it’s completely dark. No stars. Despite this, by way of dream logic, he can still see. It’s pitch black, but he can so clearly see that it’s Kavinsky and not Adam sat beside him. 

“You always fight me,” Kavinsky says. He sounds very unlike himself. His voice is soft and vulnerable. He takes Ronan’s hand. Ronan tries to speak back, but the dream won’t let him.

Kavinsky fingers the bands on Ronan’s wrists. Taps each of them in succession: one, two, three, four, five. He slips his fingers beneath them and Ronan tenses.

“No secrets from me,” Kavinsky says. He loosens the bands and slides them off. The scars beneath them are fresher than they are when Ronan is awake. They’re still deep and ugly, seeping blood, an outward sign of his desperation. Kavinsky lifts Ronan’s wrist to his mouth and presses a kiss to the scars. His lips come away bloody.

Then Kavinsky is not Kavinsky, but a dark creature with black eyes, a twisted face, snarling fangs. Ronan tries to pull his arm back but the creature presses claws into his skin. Blood flows thick and fast. The creature lowers its mouth to Ronan’s wrist, and Ronan screams as it tears the scars open with its teeth.

He’s still screaming when he wakes up.

*

He spends a lot of time making out with Adam over the next few weeks. Ronan feels like he’s gone from: inexperience, only drunkenly kissing Kavinsky, to: very much experienced, could probably compete in the kissing Olympics. He wouldn’t, because that would involve kissing someone other than Adam Parrish, which he has no intention of. But he probably _could._

The bell tinkles and Adam groans against his mouth. It’s not meant to be a sexy noise, but it still kind of is. Ronan squeezes Adam’s hips and bites his lower lip. Adam gasps, then puts his hands to Ronan’s chest and lightly presses. Ronan immediately steps back.

Adam’s lips are slick and kiss swollen. His pupils are blown wide. His hair is a mussed up, fluffy birds nest. Ronan smooths it down for him while Adam wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. He presses a kiss to Ronan’s jaw before sliding past him to go see to his customer. 

“We should do something outside of this,” Adam says. “Do you want to go for a walk after work? I need to get out more.”

“Sure,” Ronan says, coming up behind Adam and pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. Adam sighs and leans into him. Ronan dots a few more kisses along his neck, feeling the tension melt from him. He catches one of Adam’s hands and brings it to his mouth to kiss every knuckle. 

“This is something, right?” Adam asks. His voice is quiet.

“This?” Ronan kisses his hand again. Wonders if Adam’s calling him out on his fixation. Adam smiles.

“Us,” he clarifies. “Not to sound juvenile, but, we’re not just messing around, right?”

Ronan is so consumed with affection for him he catches Adam’s jaw and tilts his head around to kiss him before he answers.

“I’m not messing around.”

“I didn’t think so. Just wanted to be on the same page. So I can refer to you as my boyfriend, then?”

Ronan’s whole body heats with a buzzing warmth at those words. A kind of happiness that was becoming foreign to him before Adam. He grins, presses his face to Adam’s hair.

“Yeah. You can do that.”

“Okay. Cool.”

“Cool.”

Adam smiles again. He turns in Ronan’s arms to kiss him properly. 

“I’ll see you later then?” 

“Yeah.” Ronan kisses Adam’s knuckles one last time. 

*

Ronan arrives with a coffee for Adam, and for once Adam accepts it without complaint or protest. They walk side by side; Adam cradling his coffee cup, Ronan with his hands shoved in his pockets. They make their way across a few streets to the park.

“Oh, they have a really nice garden area here,” Adam says. 

“Nerd.”

“Shut up.” Adam hip checks him, then hooks his arm through Ronan’s and tugs him down a path that leads to a floral area. Rows of pansies and irises sway in the breeze. There’s tall sunflowers held up with supports, only starting to bloom. There’s even a small patch of a rose garden. 

“These could probably do with some feed,” Adam says, looking at the sunflowers. “I wonder if they give them anything.”

“Nerd,” Ronan says again, and laughs when Adam elbows him in the side. 

They continue around the path once Adam is finished looking over the flowers. Making easy conversation about their days and not shying from the comfortable lulls of silence between it. They circle around the park to the pond, where a mother duck is leading her ducklings through the water. Adam catches a brief, soft glimmer of a smile from Ronan as he watches the ducks.

“Oh no, one of them’s stuck.” He motions to a duckling that’s caught in some bramble bushes near the edge of the pond. Ronan steps towards the bush. “Wait, we should find something to lift them.” 

“They’re a duck. All they’re going to do is peck me, and I’ve had worse from Chainsaw.” Ronan picks his way through the brambles and lifts the urgently quacking duckling in one hand, fingers careful around their chest. He stretches his arm away from the bank and releases them into the water. They squawk and paddle quickly towards their mother.

“That was sweet,” Adam says when Ronan comes back to him. Ronan brushes a thin line of blood from the back of his hand where the brambles caught him. “Chainsaw?”

“My raven.”

“You have a raven?”

“Well, she’s not a pet. I just raised her and she hangs around the Barns now.”

“You raised her?”

Ronan tells him about how he found Chainsaw, and Adam listens with rapt attention. Everytime he thinks he’s starting to get a grasp on who Ronan is, he finds another layer, another angle, another aspect to him he wasn’t expecting. He’s beginning to appreciate that Ronan is a complicated, complex thing, and it might take him a long time to truly know him. He realises he’s excited to find out more.

“You should come home with me some time. You could meet her.”

“Mister Lynch, are you using your bird to seduce me?”

“Have I not already seduced you?”

“Hm. You’ve romanced me. I don’t think it’s the same thing.”

“There’s a lot of spare rooms. You wouldn’t have to sleep in mine if you didn’t want to.”

“How cruel it would be for you to take me home and deny me a place in your bed,” Adam says. Ronan’s throat shifts as he swallows.

“I only said if you didn’t want to.”

“I very much want to,” Adam says. As if he hasn’t been imagining all kinds of things he could do to Ronan, with or without a bed. 

“Then, whenever you want. Just let me know.”

“Okay.” Adam tosses his empty coffee cup in the bin. When he comes back to Ronan’s side, he slides his hand down Ronan’s arm and interlocks their fingers. Ronan doesn’t pull away.

*

It’s Saturday evening and Ronan keeps tapping the steering wheel. Adam had offered to drive himself, but Ronan had insisted on picking him up.

 _The Barns is hard to find_ , he had texted. So Adam is back in his heated leather passenger seat.

“Are you nervous?” He asks with a grin when Ronan has been tapping for ten minutes.

“No,” Ronan says. Then: “Not exactly. Not about what you think.”

“Care to expand?”

Ronan sighs.

“Home is my favourite place in the entire world. I haven’t shared it with very many people.”

“Oh.” Adam sets his hand on Ronan’s thigh. “I’ll keep all my nasty criticisms internal, then.”

Ronan sends him a surly look. His fingers slow to a more scattered rhythm of tapping as the fields rush past. Ronan eventually turns into what Adam assumes at first is the laneway to his house, but soon realises is actually an incredibly narrow country road big enough for only one vehicle at a time.

“What happens if you meet another car?”

“One of you pulls into the hedge.”

The only noticeable thing about the entrance to the Barns is the trees. They grow on either side of the driveway Ronan turns into, their branches criss crossing in an archway that casts the drive into shadow.

“Oh, wow,” Adam says. He puts the window down and sticks his head out so he can see them better. When the tunnel of trees opens to the sky again, he gets a proper look at the land. Fields stretching in all directions from the farm house, which is more modest than Adam was expecting. A few barns littered across the landscape. Cows grazing in a field. 

He realises he made the guilty assumption that Ronan’s home would be as expensive and extravagant as his car. It’s a rural fantasy, but no mansion by any stretch of the imagination. Adam brings his head in from the window as Ronan parks, and looks towards him.

“There’s so much space,” he says. Thinking of his apartment, which feels squashed even with the lack of furnishings. “You have cows?”

“My father had cows. I’ve just taken over looking after them.”

“So you’re a tattoo artist by day, farmer by night?”

“The glamour never stops,” Ronan says flatly, and gets out. Adam follows, still looking around with appreciation as Ronan gets Adam’s bag from the backseat and slings it over his shoulder. Adam tries to grab it off him, but Ronan just catches his hand and links their fingers instead.

“You going to show me around?”

“Sure. Let’s just leave this inside.”

Ronan is leading him towards the house when a dark shape descends with a loud squawk that makes Adam’s heart jump to his throat. The shape lands heavily on Ronan’s shoulder, and now that it is still Adam can see it’s a bird.

“Kerah!” 

“This is Chainsaw.”

“Hello,” Adam says. Chainsaw tilts her head and looks at him with a beady eye. Then she ignores him and pecks at the piercing through the top of Ronan’s ear. “She’s… bigger than I thought she’d be.”

“She’s a nuisance,” Ronan says, but makes no move to shift her from his shoulder. He lets Adam into the house and Chainsaw takes flight down the corridor. 

“No,” Ronan says. “You got crackers this morning.”

“Kraw!”

“No!”

Adam hears the sound of falling papers and Ronan swears. He lets got of Adam to go to the kitchen and collect up some loose sketches Chainsaw has knocked from the kitchen table. Then he opens the window to shoo her out. Chainsaw puts up an argument, cawing loudly while Ronan yells at her.

While they’re preoccupied, Adam shifts the pages to go through Ronan’s drawings. There’s feathers and Celtic tribal patterns on the first sheet. Beneath that there’s a lot of floral sketches. Adam recognises flowers from his shop, and smiles. Then there’s a page that’s just a lot of sketches of hands, which he pays little mind to, until he’s shifting his hand back and realises it matches the shape of one of the drawings.

He might be making assumptions, but the sheepish look Ronan gives him once he turns back from putting Chainsaw outside makes him think he’s not.

“You really like my hands, huh?” 

Ronan says nothing. Stacks the sheets one over the other so the sketches are no longer visible. Adam catches the back of his neck and tugs him down, mouth to Ronan’s ear.

“Just wait until you see what I can do with them,” he says. Smirking when Ronan’s exhales sharply. He presses a kiss beneath Ronan’s ear and releases him. “Tour?”

Ronan shows him around the house first. Points out bathrooms for Adam if he needs them. Shows him his brothers’ rooms, still holding some of their childhood belongings, still maintained for when they come to stay. Then his room. The only room Ronan doesn’t open is the one at the end of the hall. 

“Parents’ room,” he says with a nod towards it, and Adam doesn’t ask any questions.

They spend their evening walking around the fields. Adam helping out as Ronan brings the animals in and feeds them for the evening. He’s tired and a little achey by the time they get back to the house, but in a good way, his skin warm from the sun. He showers while Ronan cooks them dinner. After they eat, he settles on Ronan’s bed to reply to some messages on his website while Ronan showers.

Ronan comes in wearing just an old, faded pair of sweats, and Adam glances over his phone. 

“Hey, you,” he says.

“Hey,” Ronan says. Adam sets his phone aside and holds his arms out, and Ronan climbs onto the bed beside him. Adam kisses him, hand on the back of Ronan’s head, and pulls him over him.

*

Ronan’s still flushed warm from the shower, but when Adam’s hand touches the bare skin of his back his flesh feels alight. Adam’s fingers trail teasingly light, following the bumps of his spine, and Ronan shivers. He feels Adam smile against his mouth, then shift so their legs are tangled.

“Come here,” Adam says.

“I am here.”

“You’re holding yourself all tense. Just relax onto me. You’re not going to squash me.”

“Maybe I want to squash you.”

“Psh. You can try.”

Adam’s soft petting along his back gets Ronan to relax. They’ve been pressed close before, but it feels so much more intimate lying down. Ronan is so very away of everywhere he is in contact with Adam.

“I’ve never seen all these before,” Adam says, tracing a finger over the feathers that peek over Ronan’s shoulder from his back piece. 

“Yes. I’m usually wearing a shirt.”

Adam snorts and pulls him down for another kiss. His hand smooths flat against Ronan’s back, long fingers splaying out like an unspoken claim. Ronan’s body hums beneath that touch, the skin of his back rising to press into Adam’s palm with each breath he takes.

“Gorgeous,” Adam says, and Ronan kisses him harder because he doesn’t know how to handle soft words like those. They make his insides confused.

Adam tangles his legs around Ronan’s, then rolls and flips them over with a strength that both surprises and arouses Ronan. Adam’s thigh presses between Ronan’s legs, and he feels hot all over, feels electricity in his stomach, feels his cock start to respond. Adam pauses to pull his shirt off and throw it aside, then he bows down to press a kiss over Ronan’s heart. 

“First time, right?”

“You don’t have to treat me like some blushing virgin.”

“I’m- Ronan, I’m not. Just. Tell me if I’m doing something you don’t like? Talk to me, okay? It’s a first for me, too. I’d rather you let me know if something’s not working for you.”

“Okay.”

“And if you want to stop-“

“I won’t.”

“If you do-“

Ronan lunges up and kissing Adam so hard he can feel his bottom teeth pressing against his lips, just edging on painful. Adam’s moan is muffled between them.

“I have been dreaming of this for too long,” Ronan says, too horny to feel embarrassed by the admittance. Adam’s pupils grow a little wider at his words, and he nods.

“Okay.”

They kiss some more. Heated, wet, panting for quick breaths, reluctant to be parted from each other. Adam is the first to move away, shifting to Ronan’s neck which he now knows is sensitive. Ronan squirms as Adam starts his assault, licking and nipping the skin. He reaches up to stroke Ronan’s cheek, and Ronan catches his wrist, takes Adam’s thumb into his mouth and sucks hard around it, his tongue pressing up against the pad of his thumb. It surprises a breathy sound out of Adam.

“Is it okay if I mark you?” Adam asks. Ronan’s body pulses in response. “I’ll do it below the neckline if you want.”

“Mark me wherever you want,” Ronan says, voice husky. Adam trails his index and middle finger over Ronan’s lips, and Ronan takes those into his mouth too. He sucks on them with urgency and Adam responds by sucking a bruise into his neck. Ronan whimpers around his fingers, thighs clenching around the leg Adam has pressed between them.

Adam continues to lavish attention on Ronan’s neck until he’s squirming beneath him. He nibbles the lobe of his ear, gives it a sharp tug with his teeth that has Ronan hissing in pleasure. He kisses along Ronan’s shoulder. A hard bite at the curve where shoulder meets neck has Ronan arching up against him. Adam takes his saliva slick fingers from Ronan’s mouth and circles his nipple.

“Adam,” Ronan says, ragged, already sounding fucked out. He feels hazy. Fuzzy. All his senses muffled by _AdamAdamAdam_.

“Ronan,” Adam says back. A breathy whisper. Static shooting across Ronan’s skin. He pinches Ronan’s nipple between his fingers and Ronan moans, helpless, pleading.

“Okay if I take these off?” Adam’s fingers tease along the waistline of Ronan’s sweats. Ronan nods, pushing at the waistband, can’t get them off quick enough. Adam eases his hands away and takes them down for him. Tugs them off his ankles and let’s them drop from the bed. He looks up over Ronan’s form, lips parted. “You.”

Ronan waits, but Adam apparently doesn’t have the words. He uses touch instead. His palms slide up along Ronan’s legs with slow reverence. Squeezing the firm muscle of his thighs. He stops with his thumbs teasingly close to Ronan’s cock, and Ronan whines.

“Okay,” Adam says quietly, more to himself than Ronan. He gently closes those long, beautiful, elegant fingers around Ronan, and the sight alone sends a heatwave wracking through him. He strokes, slow and unsure, and Ronan clutches onto Adam’s bicep. “Fuck, you’re so hot.”

Adam’s words earn almost as much of a reaction as his touch. Ronan’s cock twitches in his grasp. He feels feverish and dizzy. His mouth dry. Ronan bites his lower lip and watches through hooded eyes as Adam starts to speed up the movement of his hand. 

Adam leans in and kisses him again while his hand moves between them. It’s sloppy and distracted, but Ronan is hungry for anything Adam cares to give him. He moans into Adam’s mouth, and Adam lays his free hand over Ronan’s chest, feels the rapid beat of his heart beneath his palm. 

“Can I suck you off?”

“Do you really need to ask?”

“I’m stalling to build myself up,” Adam says, and Ronan laughs, breathless, against his lips.

“Even if you fuck it up, how would I know?”

“I feel like, on an instinctive level, you’d know.”

“If you keep talking I’m just gonna suck your dick.”

“No! I asked first. Wait your turn.” Ronan’s laughter melts into a moan as Adam twists his wrist _just so_ , and this is it. This is what was never there with Kavinsky. This feels right and comfortable and not at all confusing. Adam kisses Ronan’s chest, then his stomach, then his hip.

“Okay,” he says. 

“Okay,” Ronan says back, even though Adam was talking to himself. Ronan grins at Adam’s scowl, but then Adam rubs his thumb across the tip of Ronan’s cock and his expression melts into pleasure. 

“Here we go.” Adam slides his hand to the base of Ronan’s cock and leans in. He presses his tongue to the underside and drags it up along the length of it, and already Ronan’s thighs are trembling at the sensation. Adam laps at the head a few times before slowly, gently taking it into his mouth, cautious of his teeth. 

He is gorgeous. Sun kissed freckle splattered skin, dusty brown hair like the fields in hot summer, blue eyes looking up from beneath his lashes like the sky at dusk. Ronan has never done anything in his life to be deserving of Adam Parrish. He’s so grateful to have him anyway.

Then Adam bobs his head, takes Ronan deeper, and any coherent thoughts leave Ronan. All his brain can focus on is Adam’s mouth, hot and wet, and Adam’s hand, just the right amount of firm pressure. His left hand clutches at the sheets, and his right pushes through Adam’s hair, just lightly holding, Adam his anchor point. 

“Adam,” he says, after what feels both like a small eternity and also not very long at all. “Adam, I’m-“

Adam gives him a thumbs up, which seems, given his current position, frankly ridiculous. Then his cheeks hollow and he works Ronan with more effort. Ronan comes with a ragged moan, and Adam swallows around him until he’s done.

“How’d I do?” Adam asks, crawling up over Ronan. “Give me a mark out of ten.”

Ronan, absolutely wrecked and breathless, says: “a hundred.”

Adam laughs and kisses the edge of his mouth. Ronan reaches, fumbling, limbs shaky, to cup his cheek. Adam nuzzles into Ronan’s palm and curls his fingers around Ronan’s wrists.

It’s a second too late before Ronan realises he didn’t put his wristbands back on after his shower.

Adam’s fingers pause, then press over the different texture slowly. He tilts his head so he can look at Ronan’s wrist, and Ronan tenses. It’s not that he’s _embarrassed_ about his scars. He’s not, really. He just doesn’t like to think about the memories attached to them. Doesn’t want to talk about it right now, especially, when he’s sharing this experience with Adam.

Adam presses a kiss to Ronan’s scars and his mind reels with the intense feeling of déjà vu from his dream. Then Adam’s fingers stroke down his arm. He doesn’t ask or pry. Just shifts up to kiss Ronan soft and sweet.

It’s too early, he knows, too fast and too soon, but he loves Adam Parrish, completely and irrevocably.

“I think that’s over generous.”

“I stand by what I said.” Ronan strokes his fingers along Adam’s side, greedy for all the new skin he’s never gotten to explore before. 

Adam does not, in fact, look like six pack crucified Jesus. This is of a strange comfort to Ronan. 

Adam kisses Ronan’s shoulder. While Ronan’s catching his breath, he takes time exploring the tattoos littered across his body. Tracing them with his fingers before pressing kisses to them. Ronan twitches when he feels a little sting, and looks down to see Adam sucking a dark bruise into his hip.

“A temporary tattoo from me to you,” he says, and Ronan bites his tongue so hard it hurts to stop him from blurting out _I love you._ Instead he tugs Adam back up to him, kissing him deeply as he reaches between them and palms Adam’s cock. It’s solid and warm beneath his hand. Adam moans and raises his hips to push his own pants off.

Ronan flips them when Adam’s pants are around his thighs. He pulls them off and kneels between Adam’s legs, takes in the every glorious inch of him. In all his dreams, Ronan has never dreamed he’d have Adam spread on his bed like this.

The reality is so much better.

“You, uh. Gonna stare all night,” Adam says, but Ronan can see the flush running down his chest. The self conscious way he tilts his head slightly away.

“It’s a good view,” Ronan says softly. “Hard to look away. Not the only thing that’s hard.”

He takes Adam’s cock in hand. Adam huffs a laugh, but any tension goes from his shoulders. Ronan grins, props himself over Adam on one arm and slowly starts to stroke him, watching his face as Adam’s lashes flutter. 

“Ronan.” 

“Adam.”

“Mmm. Ronan.” Adam’s long, delicate fingers stroke along the side of his hair. They come to the piercing at the top of his ear and turn it slightly. Ronan nuzzles into the touch. “So handsome.”

It’s Ronan’s turn to flush. 

“I’m gonna suck your dick anyway, you don’t have to flatter me.”

“Not flattery,” Adam says, stroking Ronan’s cheek. “Just truth.”

“Ugh. Gay,” Ronan says, as he shuffles back on the bed, lowers himself between Adam’s thighs, and flicks his tongue against him. Adam half laughs, half sighs. 

“Yeah. I’m the gay one.”

Ronan doesn’t answer, just takes Adam in his mouth. He closes his eyes as he guides himself down. Inhales the musky scent of Adam and moans softly. Adam lightly scratches at his stubbled scalp. 

“That’s a good use for your mouth,” he says. Ronan let’s his teeth graze against Adam. A threat. “Hey.”

Ronan smirks around him, but then goes back to sucking Adam off with extreme focus. He wants to be good. He wants to be as good as Adam was for him. Wants to make him come apart beneath him. He wants it even more than he wanted his own orgasm. 

He uses Adam’s noise as feedback. Repeating each lick or suck that gets a particularly good moan. Adam is mostly stifling himself. Bitten back whimpers. His wrist pressed to his mouth to muffle his sounds. Ronan wishes he wouldn’t, but he doesn’t stop to ask.

“Nngh. Ronan, I’m close.”

Ronan looks up. Locks gazed with Adam who is glancing down through narrowed eyes. Very slowly and purposefully, Ronan raises his hand and gives him a thumbs up. Adam laughs; a loud, surprising burst. 

“You’re such a dick,” he says, but then quickly bites down on his wrist bone as his thighs tremble beneath Ronan’s hand. Ronan’s not quite ready when Adam comes, and the taste pools in his mouth, slightly bitter, before he swallows it down. He draws back slow, little kitten licks up along Adam’s cock until Adam places a hand to his forehead.

“Mmph. Too much.”

Ronan wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and crawls up the bed to drop beside Adam. He kisses his jaw, his neck, the little purple circle where Adam bit into his own wrist.

“You don’t have to do that. I like hearing you.”

“Mm.” Adam just rolls towards him, pliant and warm. Ronan smiles and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “You sure you haven’t done that before?”

“Pretty sure I’d remember.”

“Was real good.” Adam yawns, pressing his face to Ronan’s shoulder to stifle it, and Ronan loves him. With every breath, Ronan loves him.

“Good,” he says quietly, pulling the duvet up around Adam’s shoulders. He strokes Adam’s hair. Adam hums happily, pressing sleepy kisses to the base of Ronan’s throat. 

“We should definitely do it again,” Adam says, with a coy little smile that is infectious.

“Shut up and go to sleep,” Ronan says, because he knows it’s too early to say _I love you._


	3. Only Heaven I’ll Be Sent To

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from Take Me To Church by Hozier
> 
> The fic I started this as a “quick break” from is currently at 19k words. This ended up over 44k. I don’t think it counts as a break anymore. Rather an elaborate and strangely productive form of procrastination in which I almost speed run NaNoWriMo in a week.
> 
> Content warnings:  
> Explicit sexual content  
> Light dom/sub dynamics  
> Possessive behaviour  
> Non graphic violence  
> Suicide attempt mention  
> Blasphemy / implied criticism of the Catholic Church  
> Implied power imbalance and abusive behaviour between Kavinsky and the pack

Adam wakes up slow in the morning. There’s a soft sensation against his back, and it feels so nice. At first he thinks it’s a dream and he doesn’t want to leave it. Then he realises that it’s Ronan’s fingers, trailing up and down his back. He smiles and squints his eyes open. Ronan is lying with an arm behind his head, eyes closed as he draws lines on Adam’s skin.

“Mornin’,” Adam says, voice a little croaky with sleep. Ronan’s eyes blink open and he smiles.

“Morning.” 

Adam leans up to kiss him and doesn’t even feel self conscious about his morning breath. He presses his forehead to Ronan’s cheek and sighs softly. When was the last time he woke up this happy? Has he ever?

“So what does Ronan Lynch do with his days off?”

“Well, usually I’d go to mass on Sunday, but you were very warm, and it made it very hard to get up.” 

“Did I make you miss it?”

“Nah. Big man will forgive me for skipping one week.”

“I… never thought you’d be religious.”

“No?”

“No. You always surprise me.”

“I inherited Catholicism and haven’t been able to shake it.”

“Huh.” Adam marvels at Ronan. Another secret layer he never expected. 

“Otherwise, just gotta let the animals out again.” 

“Does that need done right now?”

“Why?” Ronan arches a brow. Adam trails fingers from Ronan’s chest to beneath the blanket. “Oh.”

“Yes.”

“They could wait a little longer.”

They have a repeat show of last night. It is just as good the second time.

*

Adam leans across the gate as Ronan guides the cows into the field, holding it open for him. He reaches fingers out and lets them trail along the back of one of the cows as they pass. Ronan catches him and smiles. It’s a bright sunny morning. Adam squints against the light and wonders how Ronan can still wear all black on a day like this. 

As Ronan’s coming back towards the gate, he holds his arm up. Adam is confused for a moment before Chainsaw swoops past him and lands on Ronan’s arm. Ronan strokes her chest with his finger, then sets her on his shoulder. 

“Does she come every morning?” Adam asks, swinging the gate shut for Ronan once he comes out. 

“Most mornings. Though she _should_ be finding her own food now.” Ronan glares at Chainsaw. She pays no mind, looking past him at Adam with her head tilted. “Do you want to hold her today?”

“Me? Would she let me?”

“Probably. If you feed her. Come on.” Ronan takes Adam’s hand and they walk back across the grass to the house. Chainsaw takes off and flies ahead of them as they get closer, waiting on the kitchen windowsill. “Fuckin’ beggar.”

Ronan brings out a snack pack of crackers and has Adam put out his hand. He breaks some up into his palm. Chainsaw, who has been on Ronan’s head since he appeared with the crackers, bounces down his arm now and pecks at the crackers. It’s a little jolt of sensation, and Adam laughs, surprised.

“Go on,” Ronan says, and he gives his arm a shake. Chainsaw eventually gets the hint. She gives an irritated _crrraw_ and hops across to Adam’s arm. Adam stays very still, afraid that her trust for him is tentative, and he might break it if he moves too much. He looks up to Ronan with an excited smile to see Ronan holding his phone up.

“Are you taking my photo?”

“Keepsake,” Ronan says.

“Mhm. For you or me?”

Ronan flips him off, but then comes closer and breaks more crackers into his hand. He kisses the corner of Adam’s grinning mouth while he’s distracted watching Chainsaw.

“This is so cool,” Adam says. “I can’t believe this is just normal for you.”

“It borders on annoying when she wakes me up pecking on the window.”

“Krah.”

“ _Krah_ , my ass,” Ronan says. Chainsaw ruffles her feathers with a coo, then goes back to pecking up the crackers. When she’s done, she observes Adam curiously. Slowly inching her way up his arm. She stops on his bicep, stretches her neck out, and gives his hair a little tug. 

“Oh. She’s not used to people having hair,” Adam says, and laughs. Chainsaw shakes with the movement, and this is enough to send her fluttering up to the trees. “Whoops. Sorry.”

“It’s not you. She’s just a user. Once she’s fed she loses interest.”

“Caw!” 

Ronan flips off the tree with Chainsaw in it. 

“Let me see?” Adam asks, and Ronan hands across his phone. At first, Adam doesn’t recognise the man in the pictures. Usually his smile in photos is restrained, faked. Ronan has caught him laughing, eyes scrunched up in happiness. It’s an expression he’s not used to seeing on his face. “These are nice.”

“Of course they are. You’re in them.”

“I’m gonna tell everyone you’re a sap and ruin your hardcore reputation.”

“No one will believe you,” Ronan says, wrapping an arm around Adam’s chest and hooking his chin over his shoulder. Adam leans into the embrace, feeling safe and at ease.

“Mmm they might.”

“Nah.” Ronan nips at his ear and Adam chuckles, turning to press his forehead against Ronan’s cheek. Chainsaw caws loudly. “Don’t watch then, voyeur.”

They walk around the Barns again because Adam wants to make the best of being outdoors, and because Ronan is happy enough to go along with what Adam wants.

“We get rabbits here,” Ronan says. He points out a little gap at the base of one of the hedges. “You can see them in the evenings sometimes.”

“Ohh.”

“Bats, too, but you see them more often in the winter. They won’t come out until it’s really dark.”

“Bats?”

“Mhm. They hang out in the trees over the driveway.”

“I can see why you love this place. It’s… really nice being so close to nature.”

Ronan squeezes his hand, and Adam remembers he was nervous about sharing this place with him. He looks at Ronan, then at the expanse of his home around them, and he can see them in each other. The wildness and the homeliness of the Barns in Ronan. The expanse of fields full of hidden wonders a reflection of Ronan in the landscape. Adam feels warm in a way that has nothing to do with the sun. 

“Thank you for bringing me here.”

“You’re welcome whenever you want.”

“Yeah? I think I could probably find my way now. Drive out and see you sometimes.”

Ronan can’t quite disguise his smile, so he pulls Adam in and kisses him. A soft, sweet kiss that Adam melts into, stroking his fingers along the side of Ronan’s throat. 

“Yeah. If you wanted,” Ronan says, but the tips of his ears are pink. 

*

Adam’s flat feels even smaller when Ronan drops him off that night. He invites him up, thinking it’s only fair Ronan sees his home since he’s shared his. He regrets this once his key is in the door, conscious of how small and barren it is.

“It’s not much. I’ve been putting more effort into the shop,” Adam says, pushing open the door. “Walls could do with a touch up.”

Ronan steps in behind him, quietly looking around. Adam tries not to fidget with his nervous hands. He spins his key ring around his fingers a few times before hanging them on the hook by the door.

“I’ll give you the grand tour. This is the living room. Kind of slash dining room. Kitchen’s through there. That’s the bathroom, and this.” He pushes open the last door. “Is my bedroom.”

There’s a bed in it that’s neatly made, but that’s about all that’s neat. There’s books stacked on the bedside table. There’s clothes over a chair in the corner. The only other furniture is a cheap wardrobe shoved in the corner. He turns back to look at Ronan in the living room, examining the coffee table which is covered in ribbon, message cards, and flat packed flower boxes. 

“I wasn’t expecting company,” Adam says. “It’s a bit of a mess.”

“It’s just lived in,” Ronan says, taking Adam’s arm as he moves to start tidying things. He tugs him gently to his chest and Adam curls his arms tight around Ronan’s waist, presses his face against his shoulder and tries to swallow down old insecurities. Ronan doesn’t try to fill the moment with meaningless words. He just holds Adam and let’s him work through it himself.

*

Ronan continues to look around the room as he smooths a hand down Adam’s back. Desperate to take in every detail, every hint of what domesticity means to Adam Parrish. His gaze lands on the frame on the wall, and it takes him a moment to work out why the image looks familiar.

“You framed my sketch.”

“Yeah.” Adam draws back slowly. His expression is carefully neutral, and Ronan hates it. Adam retreating inside himself to a place where Ronan can’t follow. “It’s the only bit of personality this place has.”

It’s such an obscene statement to Ronan, when he can see Adam everywhere he looks. Understated. No need for flashy material goods. Signs of his passion leaking from downstairs into his flat. He rubs the tense knot at the back of Adam’s neck.

“I like it.”

“There’s not much to like.”

“Just needs some work. Like you said. I could help with the painting.”

“I don’t-“

“Need help. I know. But wouldn’t it be a very boyfriend thing of me to help you paint your apartment?”

Adam bites his lower lip, and his eyes soften. Ronan sees the spark of Adam start to come closer to the surface again. 

“I suppose,” he says.

“I’m very handy,” Ronan says. “You should put me to use.”

“Put you to use. Now isn’t that an idea.” Adam trails his fingers over Ronan’s chest and Ronan’s heart beats a little faster. “I think I like that thought.”

Ronan exhales heavily through his nose, and Adam looks at him with some curiosity.

“Ronan.”

“Adam.”

“Does that… turn you on?”

“What?”

“The idea of me… using you.”

The heat that flushes through Ronan seems to be an answer all of its own. He swallows thickly, turns his gaze away, but Adam’s gentle fingers on his jaw turn it back to him.

“Hey,” Adam says softly. “I’m not trying to rush you into anything. I know it’s early days, but… if there’s ever something you want to explore. I- uh. I kind of like the idea of being in control.”

“Yeah?” The huskiness of Ronan’s voice is a dead give away, but Adam just looks at him with hungry focus. His thumb traces Ronan’s lower lip. 

“Mm. I think so. It’s not been something I really thought about before, but… maybe it’s because you seem into it. Or maybe it’s because you’re bigger and stronger than me, the idea that you’d submit for me is… really hot.”

Ronan exhales all in a rush. Little does Adam Parrish know just how much Ronan would do for him, if he’d only say the word. Adam is a frustration in that he never asks, and when Ronan tries to give or help, he resists. The idea of Adam finally asking, no, _telling_ Ronan what to do, what he wants, has heat pooling heavy in his stomach. 

Adam takes his hand and guides him to the couch, then sits cross legged across from Ronan. 

“I know you don’t have much of a history with this.”

“Or any,” Ronan says, blunt and unphased.

“Right. Well, I guess, cards on the table, I don’t have much more. I’ve only been with girls, and it was largely… kind of vanilla, I guess? A little hair pulling or spanking here-“ Ronan doesn’t want to ache with jealousy, but he does, a little. He also aches with arousal and for once regrets his short hair. “Nothing serious. Which, listen, I’m not saying we have to go full BDSM or anything. Obviously. Just- I need to know you’ll stop me, if you need it. I _need_ you to do that, Ronan.”

“Okay.”

“Will you really?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I don’t ever want to push you past where you want to go.”

“I know. That’s why I can let you. I can trust you with this because I know you won’t abuse that trust.”

Adam smiles, warm and soft and handsome, and Ronan radiates closer like a flower growing towards the sun’s beams.

“Do you… maybe want to try a little bit now?” Adam’s smile shifts, a suggestive edge coming to it, and every muscle in Ronan’s body goes tense and taut with anticipation.

“Yes.” 

Adam cups his head and pulls him closer. They kiss for a while, building heat between them. Ronan’s hands slide under Adam’s shirt to feel the soft warm flesh of his stomach, the way it shifts with each breath. Adam’s hand squeezes at Ronan’s throat as he pushes him back slightly.

“On your knees. Now.”

Ronan hits the floor with a loud bump. He sees a flicker of concern in Adam’s expression. Ronan gives a brief nod, Adam nods back, and then they’re back in the game. 

“I think you know what to do,” Adam says. His voice is lower than usual. Darker. Ronan can’t get his jeans open quick enough. He nuzzles his cheek against the rough denim of Adam’s thigh, feeling like he’s in heat. So desperate to please. 

Adam lays a hand on Ronan’s head, and it settles him enough to steady his hands. He tugs Adam’s jeans, and Adam lifts his hips so Ronan can take them down. His cock is hard already, and Ronan leans in and licks along it. He takes a hold of the base, but Adam shakes his head.

“Hands behind your back. I want you to just use your mouth.” His pupils are blown when he meets Ronan’s gaze, and Ronan feels frantic and feverish. He puts his hands behind his back and clutches his forearms tight. 

It makes the whole process a little more clumsy, having no hands to help. He mouths along the side of Adam’s cock, then takes it in his mouth. Ronan circles his tongue around the tip and Adam hums.

“That’s good,” he says, and Ronan moans. A slow, coy smile blossoms on Adam’s face. “Do you like when I praise you, baby? Like hearing me tell you how good you are and how good you make me feel?”

Adam’s voice slips like this and Ronan can hear his West Virginian drawl. It washes over him with familiar warmth. Ronan lowers his eyes, but he also shuffles his knees a little further apart, his own cock aching at Adam’s words. Adam taps two fingers against his cheek to draw his attention back.

“I need you to communicate with me, Ronan.”

Ronan draws his mouth off of Adam slowly. He feels his lips slick with his own saliva. His cheeks burning with a delicious kind of embarrassment.

“Yes,” Ronan says hoarsely.

“Thank you. That’s what I needed. Perfect.” Adam strokes a thumb over the flush of Ronan’s cheeks. He presses his face into the touch, and Adam slides his fingers up to scratch lightly behind Ronan’s ear. “But I didn’t say you could stop.”

Ronan gives a low, aroused growl as he shifts forward to mouth at Adam’s cock again. His hips rock uselessly against air, desperate for friction. He ignores them. Focuses on breathing through his nose. On the noises Adam is making above him. Adam catches himself now when he’s stifling his moans, and makes the effort to move his wrist away for Ronan’s sake. Ronan is very grateful because Adam moaning is definitely one of his favourite sounds.

“Fuck, Ronan. You look so good between my legs. So perfect with your lips stretched around my cock. _Fuck_. Just like that.” 

Ronan ignores the ache in his jaw and works his mouth faster. His body is tense with anticipation as Adam’s hips start to shift beneath him. Adam’s moaning too often to say much now beyond pants of _so good_ and _fuck_ and _Ronan_. When he comes, Ronan keeps sucking until Adam taps his cheek.

“Stop,” Adam says. He does, sitting back on his heels, arms still clasped behind his back. “Fuck. Did you enjoy that?”

“Yes,” Ronan says, a desperate edge to it. His skinny jeans have never felt tighter. His cock hard and confined. 

“Come here. You can move your hands again.” 

Ronan shakes them out and half pounces on to Adam, who turns them and spills Ronan out on his couch. He gets Ronan’s jeans open and pushed low enough on his hips to get a hand around him, body caging Ronan in against the sofa. Adam kisses him hard and filthy as he starts to stroke him off, fast and rough. He trails kisses along Ronan’s face to his ear while Ronan whimpers.

“You’re so hot. So strong and tough and yet you melt like butter for me. So good. My good boy.”

Ronan claws at Adam’s back. Every word goes through him like a shock, Adam’s voice electricity crackling down his spine. Adam bites his ear lobe, then his neck.

“My big strong man. Never does what anyone tells him, but you will for me, won’t you?”

“Yes. God. Adam. You, only you.” Ronan might be embarrassed about his babbling if he wasn’t so desperate. If the only thing consuming his brain wasn’t _Adam_ and _more_.

“Only me,” Adam says. His free hand presses to Ronan’s throat. It’s only a threat of pressure, but it’s enough to have Ronan whimpering even louder. “You’re mine.”

Adam bites his neck, and the claim of his words along with the bite are enough to have Ronan keening as he comes between them. His orgasm seems to stretch and stretch, and when it’s finally done his body is a trembling mess. 

Adam shifts so he can lie along the back of the couch. It’s not really big enough for two grown men, but he keeps a firm arm around Ronan to stop him from slipping as he adjusts their position. He lays Ronan’s head against his chest and makes soft, soothing noises as he rubs his back.

“Oh, Ronan, that was so good. You were incredible. Are you okay?”

Ronan nods, breaths still coming hard, not trusting himself with words yet. Adam holds him close and hums softly until the shaking of Ronan’s limbs eases. He presses his face into Adam’s shoulder. It’s stupid to feel bashful considering what they’ve just done, but he can’t imagine talking like he did now that he’s no longer painfully aroused.

“You still with me?” Adam’s voice is soft, gentle.

“Yes,” Ronan says. He finds Adam’s hand and grasps it tightly.

“Was that okay? Was it what you wanted?”

“Uh. Yeah.”

“Anything you didn’t like?” 

“No, it was good. Did you call me baby?”

“Uh. Maybe. Was that… do you not like that?”

“I just didn’t expect it.”

“I think it was a heat of the moment thing, but I can work to stop if-“

“It’s fine.” Ronan lifts their joined hands and presses a kiss to the back of Adam’s. “It was okay. Like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I feel like you did all the work.”

“Okay, you literally just sucked me off, dude, come on.”

“Still.”

“I mean, it probably just feels like that because I was taking control? I liked it, though. It didn’t feel like work. It kind of felt… like letting go. Sort of freeing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I would be up for trying this again.”

“Cool.” Adam presses a kiss to the top of Ronan’s head. 

They stay entangled on the couch for a while, just cuddling and listening to each other’s breathing. Both of them reluctant to part. Eventually the cold gets to them and they sit up to readjust their pants. Adam’s shirt has Ronan’s come on it, so he changes into a loose sweater. 

“Do you have paint?” Ronan asks.

“Hm?”

“For the walls.”

“Oh. I’ve some left over from the shop that’ll do.”

“Okay. I’ll come over after work tomorrow and we can make a start.”

Adam loops his fingers through Ronan’s belt hoops and pulls him closer. Their kisses now are much softer and sweeter than before, and Ronan aches with the thought of missing Adam already. Adam kisses him at the couch when he stands, then by the door as he’s putting on his shoes, then in the doorway before he leaves, and Ronan thinks maybe he’s not the only one who’s in deep.

*

That night, it’s actually Ronan who sends Gansey a picture. Adam laughing brightly at Chainsaw on his arm. Ronan stares at the picture for a long time before he hits send. He’s not a sharer by nature, but he wants someone to know that he’s won over this sunshine boy. That for all the anger and bitterness inside him, there must be something worthwhile too, something good enough for Adam to give him his affection.

Gansey’s response is immediate.

**_Is that your new florist friend?_ **

_My new boyfriend._

**Incoming call: Gansey**

“Ronan!”

“You know people don’t really call nowadays, right? You could have just text me back.”

“Calls are for important things. This is too important for texting. You have a boyfriend?”

Ronan tries really really hard not to smile. He fails.

“Yeah.”

“Who is he? Is he the florist?”

“Yes.”

“I knew it. Henry owes me twenty dollars.”

“You bet on me?”

“Yes.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“No!”

“Did Sargent bet?”

“Well…”

“Gansey.”

“Jane sat this one out.”

“Because I thought the chances of anyone dating him were so astronomically bad,” he hears Sargent yell from the other side. Gansey tries to shush her. “Let me see this boy. Oh. He’s actually cute.”

“Hands off. You’ve already got two boyfriends, don’t be greedy.”

“Ronan says you’ve already got two boyfriends and not to be greedy.”

She laughs, and Ronan’s chest aches with missing his friends. All of them. He wouldn’t have believed when he first met Sargent that the sound of her laughter crackling down a phone line would be so bittersweet to him some day.

“What’s his name?” she asks.

“Adam,” Ronan says, before Gansey can repeat it again. He hears the click of Gansey putting him on speakerphone. “Adam Parrish.”

“Is he as much of an asshole as you?”

“Jane.”

“What?”

“No,” Ronan says. “He’s only a bit of an asshole. Average amount of asshole.”

“An average asshole.” Ronan can hear the smile in her voice.

“You two,” Gansey says, but he sounds unbearably fond. “I’m very happy for you, Ronan.”

“Yeah. If you’re still dating when we get back, I’m giving him the shovel talk,” Sargent says. Ronan snorts.

“Very intimidating, short stuff.” 

“I am very intimidating, and I still have my knife. If he gives you trouble, you let me know.”

“Thanks, bro.”

“I got you, man.”

Ronan chats to them for another while before hanging up for bed. It feels a little bigger without Adam in it, but the memory of falling asleep next to him still gives Ronan a happy, warm feeling. He hugs a spare pillow close and falls asleep pretending it’s Adam.

*

Ronan sees Proko through the window and wants to sigh, but he also doesn’t want to let the little shit know he annoys him. Steeling himself, he pushes the door open and steps into the parlour. Proko glances up, sees it’s Ronan, and glares. Then his eyes drop to Ronan’s neck. 

“Oh,” he says. Ronan’s confused for a moment, until he remembers Adam’s mouth, and more precisely, the string of dark bruises Adam’s mouth left down his throat. 

“What are you staring at?” 

“An idiot,” Proko says. He’s smirking now. His eyes bright with excitement. “You’re a fool, Lynch.”

“Fuck you.”

“It’s not me you have to worry about.” Proko laughs. He pushes off the desk and their spinny chair glides back towards the hallway. Proko catches himself on the doorframe and stands, kicking the chair back to the desk. “This is going to be good.”

He laughs as he disappears down to the back of the building, where he and Kavinsky have their rooms. Ronan rolls his eyes and starts to get set up for his morning appointment.

*

The text comes through just as his client goes out the door.

**hey mofo my room now**

When Ronan ignores it and goes about cleaning up his studio, he gets another.

**I said NOW Lynch don’t keep me waiting**

_You have legs. Come here if you want to talk._

**if you prefer I can go next door n have this talk with the flower boy**

**it might not go as well**

Ronan clenches his teeth. He hates giving in to Kavinsky, but Swan was right. Adam is in the splash zone now. Adam, who doesn’t know Kavinsky, who doesn’t understand the precarious nature of his shifting moods, who wouldn’t know how to handle him like this. 

Ronan heads down the hall.

“Close the door,” Kavinsky says. Ronan does. He’s leaning back against the table in his room. He’s got a piercing needle in his hand, and he turns it this way and that, watching the point. Slowly, his eyes come up to Ronan, then to Ronan’s throat. “So Proko wasn’t shitting me.”

“You called me here because your lap dog was telling tales?”

“So it’s him, huh?” When Ronan doesn’t answer, Kavinsky pushes away from the table and steps closer to him. Ronan keeps an eye on where he’s waving the needle. “You and the flower boy fucked.”

“It’s none of your business what I do or who I do it with,” Ronan says. 

“It is when we have unfinished business.”

“We have nothing. You have some kind of delusion.” 

Kavinsky lifts his hand, and Ronan moves quick to grab his wrist before he can bring the needle down. Kavinsky’s arm trembles in his gasp. His face is scrunched up with anger and effort. His free hand fists in Ronan’s shirt.

“Everything I did for you, and you treat me like I’m nothing.”

Swan was right about another thing, too. Kavinsky has helped them all in one way or another. As much as Ronan tries to separate himself from the rest of them, this is one point he has in common.

Kavinsky had dragged him through after his parents’ death. He hadn’t been a good or healthy kind of help, but he had given Ronan what he needed. He was crumbling under Gansey’s quiet concern, Declan’s growing resentment, Matthew’s need for support he tried so desperately to hide. He was still just a kid himself. He kept seeing their bodies. He couldn’t close his eyes without being haunted by it, couldn’t sleep, could barely eat.

Kavinsky was his escape. Swallowing pills, drinking until they blacked out, pushing their cars to speeds that had them dizzy with the thrill, buzzing with adrenaline. Kavinsky helped Ronan forget, and Ronan was so grateful for that that he went along with whatever Kavinsky suggested. Drugs, drinks, parties, sloppy kisses that left Ronan both aroused and feeling dirty. 

Kavinsky was the one that found him. In his father's BMW - his, by that point - in the darkened carpark of the chapel. It was late. He was so convinced, as he sat in the car too exhausted to even cry properly and sliced his wrist open, that no one would find him. That he would die, and in the morning they would find his body, but he would be gone by then and it would be all over.

He doesn’t know how Kavinsky found him. Doesn’t know why he was looking. Doesn’t even know exactly what he did, since Ronan was well gone to the world by that point. Kavinsky might have driven him to the ER himself, because Ronan’s car was waiting for him when he was finally released. He might have phoned the ambulance and then had someone drop off Ronan’s car afterwards. All Ronan knows for sure is that Kavinsky got him to the hospital, and that he text Gansey from Ronan’s phone. Just the name of the hospital. No other details. 

It wasn’t something they addressed between them. Ronan knew, and Kavinsky knew that he knew. When Ronan had shown up again with leather bands over his scars, Kavinsky had touched the bands. So lightly, so cautiously. His fingers had lingered for a moment, and he had looked at Ronan, who struggled to meet his gaze.

“Don’t ever do something so stupid again,” Kavinsky had said. A confirmation of what had happened. Ronan hadn’t said anything, and Kavinsky had sighed and slipped him some pills. Ronan has forgotten a lot of their substance fuelled kisses, but he remembers the one from that night. The desperation of it. Kavinsky had been afraid. Afraid of losing him.

That might have meant something, if he didn’t act like Ronan owed him. Like saving him meant Ronan was his now. Ronan, as he clumsily and messily worked his way through his grief, came to appreciate what Kavinsky did for him, but he never saw himself in debt. To Ronan, actions like that were done for their own merit. Not to request payback.

That was their undoing. Kavinsky’s possessiveness ended up driving Ronan away from him. Back to the easier comfort of Gansey. To Declan’s confused mess of resentment and terrified concern. To Matthew’s young attempts at understanding.

“I would rather you let me die than be your prize,” Ronan says, and Kavinsky recoils like he’s been slapped. He inhales deep through his nose. Then the smile comes, slow, unnatural. Kavinsky’s eyes are too wide, his lips stretched too far.

“I can arrange that,” he says, but it’s his empty hand that reaches for Ronan. That grabs his chin and tilts his head up. “What’s does he have that I don’t?”

“It’s not about having. It’s about how he acts.”

“We were good.” 

“We were nothing. Just a side effect of the drugs and booze.” 

“I’m going to kill him,” Kavinsky says. He starts to step away and Ronan grabs his wrist. He swings the needle up towards him, and Ronan grabs that wrist too. He turns them and slams Kavinsky to the wall, pinning his wrists against his side. Kavinsky tries to press back against him, but Ronan is unmoving. Kavinsky is panting from the effort, face close to Ronan’s.

“You’re not going to do anything to him, K. If you do, that’s us, done. Forever. I won’t even acknowledge you again.”

Kavinsky slowly deflates back against the wall, but his expression is dangerous. The kind of fearful look a cornered dog gives before it bites. 

“I don’t want to do this. Stop pushing me, and we might be okay,” Ronan says.

“Kiss me,” Kavinsky says. His voice sounds flat and dead.

“No.”

“Kiss me. Just once more. Kiss me goodbye.” He surges forward, and Ronan let’s go of his wrist, draws his arm back, and punches Kavinsky hard in the face. He staggers sideways. The needle drops to the ground. He touches his upper lip, sticky with blood from his nose, and laughs.

“They do say a kiss with a fist is better than none.” Kavinsky straightens. Even with blood streaming steadily from his nose, he looks more in control now. His eyes have gone back into focus. 

“Just let this go,” Ronan says, still poised and ready to act if Kavinsky pounces. “Or let me go.”

“Those are shitty choices.”

“They’re all you’ve got.”

Kavinsky sighs. He reaches up and grasps the collar of Ronan’s jacket. Ronan tenses, but all Kavinsky does is squeeze tight for a moment before letting it go.

“If he steps out of line, he’s gone.”

“Sargent’s already claimed the shovel talk.”

“Sargent ain’t fuckin’ here, is she?”

It’s not an apology. It’s barely an acknowledgement. It doesn’t fix everything. Ronan’s not even sure if it fixes anything, yet, but it feels like a release of some of the tension between them. 

“Don’t you have fuckin’ work to do?” Kavinsky says. Ronan arches an eyebrow, but leaves without a word. The rest of the pack are huddled at the front desk when he comes out. Swan sighs when they see him unharmed. Skov grins. Jiang’s expression remains neutral. Proko looks crushed.

“What happened?” Swan asks. 

“Not much,” Ronan says, because he’s not fully sure himself. Then, fighting down every hateful instinct in him, he makes himself look at Proko. “You should go see him. He might need you.”

Some of the tension goes out of Proko’s jaw. He doesn’t stop glaring at Ronan, but he does give him a little nod. That’s not much, either, but it’s something. Proko heads down the hallway and closes Kavinsky’s door behind him.

“Shit, man, you did it,” Skov says.

“I didn’t do anything,” Ronan says.

“Neither did he,” Swan says. 

“That’s the point,” Jiang says. 

Ronan flips them off and goes back to his room.

*

Ronan is distracted when he comes for lunch. Only gives Adam a brief smile in reply to his greeting. He’s quieter than usual, and withdrawn, staring off into space. Adam takes his hand and gives it a light squeeze. Ronan looks at him.

“You okay?”

“Mm.”

“That’s not very convincing.”

“Kavinsky and I had it out.”

“Again?” Adam sighs. He rubs his fingers along the back of Ronan’s hand. “What was it about this time?”

“You.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What? Why?”

“That I was the cause of an argument.”

“You weren’t the cause of anything. You were the subject, but you weren’t involved.”

“Right.”

“I think it might be over now.”

“What?”

“Whatever weird belief Kavinsky had we’d be together. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe tomorrow he’ll go back to it, but… Looked like the message actually got through this time.”

“That’s good, right?”

Ronan turns on his chair to face Adam. Adam shifts in his so he’s also facing Ronan. Ronan cups his cheek. He stares at Adam for a long moment, face softened out of his RBF (Ronan Bitch Face), eyes wide and vulnerable. Adam’s chest aches seeing him like that.

“I will never, ever let anyone hurt you again if I can help it,” Ronan says. 

“Ronan-“

“And if somehow they get around me, they’ll regret it.”

“Is that what Kavinsky said? He’d hurt me?” Ronan doesn’t say anything, which is as good as a yes. Adam sighs and looks down at their joined hands. “Why do you put up with him?”

Ronan lowers his hand from Adam’s cheek. He pushes up his hoody sleeve, turns his arm over, and methodically loosens each of the leather bands around his arm. When he slides them off, Adam can see the marred skin of his wrist. Ronan didn't just slash down. He slashed like he was on a rampage. Angry, criss crossing lines. Some of the smaller scars have faded to white with age, but the worse ones are still purple. Adam looks from the scars to Ronan, confused.

“Kavinsky found me,” he says. “If he hadn’t, I’d be dead.”

As much as Adam hates Kavinsky, his throat closes up at Ronan’s words. Cloying with panic at the thought of a world without Ronan. A world where he never got to meet him. A world where he never got to feel as happy as Ronan makes him. He clutches tight to Ronan’s hand.

“K’s an asshole. He’s rich and entitled, but he’s also dealing with his own shit. He was the only one I could bear to be around after my parents died. I didn’t tell you before, but I found them. I saw their bodies, and I couldn’t stop. I had chronic nightmares for months. No one knew how to deal with me. Kavinsky was the only one who still just treated me like a normal person and not some sort of fragile fucking wreck. Declan was even thinking of having me committed.” 

“Ronan-“

“It probably wasn’t the best way of coping, but it’s the only way that I actually _could_ cope. I don’t think that gives him a claim on me, but it… I don’t know. It doesn’t make it okay when he acts fucked up, I just… He was the only person that didn’t give up on me.”

“So you don’t want to give up on him,” Adam offers. Ronan shrugs, stiff and awkward. He sighs, like opening up like that was exhausting. Adam feels so ridiculously fond of him. He loops his fingers around the back of Ronan’s neck and pulls him in. Rests their foreheads together. He’s read somewhere that partners mirror each other’s breathing, so he takes slow and soothing breaths until Ronan’s slows to match his. 

“I hate that you had to go through all that,” Adam says.

“Same.” It’s a joke, but neither of them laugh.

“I wish I could have been there for you.”

“I don’t think you’d have liked that Ronan very much.”

“Hm. You might not have liked younger Adam very much.”

“I can’t imagine a single version of you I wouldn’t love,” Ronan says. Adam’s breath catches. His fingers twitch against Ronan’s skin. _Did Ronan mean that or was he just distracted by being upset?_ Ronan draws a line up and down the side of Adam’s nose with the tip of his own. 

“Ronan.”

“I love you, Adam.”

“I love you,” Adam says. He laughs, a little breathless. Cups Ronan’s face and kisses him firmly. Of course he loves him. How could he not? Getting to know Ronan Lynch, it was an inevitability. Ronan pulls him closer, and Adam lets him. Let’s Ronan pull him onto his lap and clutch onto him so tight. Keeps his own hands soft and gentle as they stroke over Ronan’s face.

Then the bell tinkles and they jolt apart like they’ve been shocked.

“Oh, don’t let me stop you, dears,” a little old lady says, leaning heavy on her walking stick as she shuffles into the shop. “Oh! Ronan, I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

Adam has never seen Ronan blush as red in his life.

“Uh. Yeah,” he says. Clears his throat. Subtly pulls his wrist bands on again beneath the counter. “This is Adam. Adam, Avery.”

“Uh.” Adam is completely confused as the old lady hobbles her way up to the counter to shake Adam’s hand. He was not of the belief Ronan had many friends outside of work, let alone elderly friends. “Hello.”

“Nice to meet you, son.”

“And you. How do you know Ronan?” 

“Oh, we see each other at mass all the time. He’s very sweet. Lifts my stick for me when I drop it. Helped me with my groceries one time.”

Ronan shifts, looking very uncomfortable with two separate spheres of his life coming into contact like this.

“Yes,” Adam says with a smile. “That sounds like my Ronan.”

He rubs his hand over Ronan’s head, and Ronan settles some with his touch. 

“Well, Adam, you look after him. He’s a good one.”

“Yes. Yes, he is.”

*

“How was Kavinsky when you went back?” 

“Didn’t see him all evening,” Ronan says. He’s not sure if that’s a good or bad sign. He watches Adam lock up the shop and then turn to him. 

“Ready to get this paint party started?”

“I’m thrilled. Can’t you tell?”

“You know, if you’re not feeling up to it after today, you really don’t have-“ Ronan presses a hand over Adam’s mouth to shut him up. Then he leans in and presses a kiss to the back of his hand. He can feel Adam’s smile against his palm.

Ronan changes into some older clothes he wears for working around the Barns while Adam puts tape over the skirting boards. Together they push the furniture away from the walls. Adam puts some music on, and they start painting, occasionally bumping hips or knocking elbows on purpose.

Ronan likes the repetitiveness of it. That it’s a kind of work he can sink into so easily, so brainlessly. Usually he might end up overthinking after a day like today, but with Adam chatting away pleasantly about the shop, he stays grounded. 

They finish the first coat of the living room and flop onto the couch for a break. Adam has a streak of paint on his nose from where he’s rubbed an itch, and Ronan stares at it with fondness.

“What?”

“You’ve got paint on your nose.”

“Oh.” Adam rubs the wrong side. “Did I get it?”

“No.” Ronan shifts closer, and gently uses his thumb nail to flake the paint off. “There. Perfect again.”

“Pssh.” Adam rolls his eyes. Ronan presses a kiss to the side of his nose. 

They have takeaway for dinner, then set to doing the second coat. While they’re talking, Ronan mentions his brothers are coming up for the weekend. 

“You could meet them. If you wanted.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“It’s not imposing if I’ve invited you.” 

“Okay. Anything I should know?”

“Well, you already know Declan is annoying.”

“Okay, that doesn’t help me make a good impression.”

“You don’t have to make a good impression.”

“I- They’re your family. I know how much they mean to you. It would be nice if they liked me.”

“A plant that eats things.”

“What?”

“If you bring Matthew a plant that eats things, I’m quite certain that’ll work.”

“Ronan, you’re aware I run a flower shop and not a garden centre.”

“Hey, you asked.” Ronan grins. “And then we feed Declan to the plant, so you don’t have to worry about him.”

Adam laughs, and pokes Ronan’s cheek with his brush. Ronan turns with fire in his eyes, and Adam dances away from him. Ronan backs him into a corner, draws his paintbrush along his palm, and presses a hand mark to Adam’s cheek.

“Hey!”

“You started it.”

“And I’ll finish it.”

By the time they’re done, they’re both covered in paint splatters and hand prints.

*

“Do I need to bring fancy clothes?” Adam asks, his phone propped between his shoulder and ear as he holds two potted Venus fly traps, comparing them against each other.

“For what?” 

“For mass on Sunday.”

“Oh. You don’t have to come with us. I know you’re not religious.”

“Yeah, and I know you are, and that it’s important to you. So I’d like to come along and experience that with you.”

“You know you really don’t have to.”

“Oh, I know, and you know that this won’t make me suddenly believe in God. I just want to share a bit of your… is culture the right word? I don’t think it is.”

“I get what you mean.”

“So do I need to dress up nice? That’s a thing people do when they go to church, right?”

“I just wear my own clothes.”

“Now, I said _people_ , not _Ronan Lynch_.” Adam holds the plant in his left hand closer to his chest and sets the other down. He takes his phone in his hand again. “The term ‘Sunday best’ has to mean something.”

“It shouldn’t be about what you wear. That undermines the point.”

“Mhm, but as a social expectation, would you see one wearing nice clothes to mass?”

“Yes,” Ronan says, after sighing loudly.

“Thank you. That’s all I needed. I’ll see you tonight.”

“Alright. See you then. Drive safe.”

“I always do,” Adam says, and clicks off the call.

*

Matthew rushes past Ronan to the window for the third time only to return with a pout as he flops down next to Ronan on the couch. 

“Thst wasn’t him,” he says.

“He’ll get here when he gets here,” Ronan says.

“But I want to meet him now!”

“Matthew,” Declan says, in a tone that suggests he settle down.

“Matthew,” Ronan says, in a tone mocking Declan’s. Matthew giggles. Declan sighs and rolls his eyes. Matthew hears another sound and jumps for the window. 

“He’s here, he’s here, he’s here!”

“Is that what he drives?” Declan asks, standing so he can glance over Matthew’s head out the window. Ronan elbows him, and heads for the door to meet Adam. Declan continues to watch from the window, but Matthew tags along right behind Ronan.

“Hey,” Adam says as he climbs out of the car.

“Hey,” Ronan says.

“Hey!” Matthew says. “I’m Matthew. I’m Ronan’s little brother. It’s nice to meet you. Ronan’s told us barely anything about you, which I think is very rude. Has he told you about me?”

“Yes, actually. A lot,” Adam says, and Matthew beams, and Ronan loves him even more, which he thought was impossible. “And this is for you.”

Adam lifts the plant pot out of the car and hands it to Matthew. Ronan smiles. Hadn’t expected him to actually follow through on that. Matthew’s expression lights up into a new level of excitement, eyes wide and bright. 

“Oh, wow! A Venus fly trap. I always wanted one of these. That’s so cool. Thank you very much, Adam.”

“You’re wel-“ Matthew hugs Adam around the waist and Adam’s expression is a surprised blank. Then he softens, patting Matthew’s back lightly. Ronan can see it’s a little awkward for him, but he’s trying. “-come.”

“I gotta go show Declan this!” Matthew zooms off towards the house, and Ronan gets Adam’s bag from the backseat. He pokes the suit bag hanging back there.

“What’s this?”

“A suit. For Sunday.”

“Ugh. You’re going to look like Declan. Like you’re on a mass date in your matching suits with your two unruly youth.”

“Careful. I haven’t met Declan yet. Maybe we _will_ be on a date by then.” 

Ronan growls in annoyance, but it’s mostly playful. He takes Adam’s bags despite Adam’s protests, elbowing his grabby hands away.

“You’re going to need your hands free for the formal handshake about to happen,” he says. Declan is waiting in the hallway for them. He steps forward, like some fucking Victorian Lord about to meet the suitor looking his daughter’s hand in marriage, and holds out a hand. Ronan can see Adam biting the inside of his cheek not to smile.

“Hello, Adam. It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”

“Likewise,” says Adam. “Been wondering what you looked like for a while.”

“Well, we only found out about you a few days ago, so it hasn’t been quite so long.”

“You keeping me a secret?” Adam asks with a smile. Ronan doesn’t answer, because he kind of was. Not out of shame or embarrassment, just not wanting to deal with Declan being so _Declan_ about it.

“Matthew, take Adam’s bags up to my room.”

“Will do,” says Matthew, who grabs them and zooms away before Adam can manage to finish: “it’s fine-“

“It’s good for him. Let’s him burn off some energy,” Declan says. 

Ronan makes Adam coffee, and he and his brothers’ tea, and the interrogation begins. Declan asks all the boring things like where Adam grew up, what he studied, how long he’s been focusing on his business. Matthew intercepts with questions like what’s your favourite colour (green), or animal (dogs and deer, which Ronan didn’t know), and what’s your favourite place in the world (he wins approval points from all of them by saying the Barns is making its way up there). Ronan holds Adam’s hand through it all, squeezing in reassurance now and then. He hates the way Declan pointedly looks at their joined hands, but not more than he loves being in contact with Adam. 

After dinner, Matthew picks out a movie and they turn the lights off in the living room to watch it. Declan is in Niall’s old armchair, and Ronan is between Matthew and Adam on the couch the brothers used to pile onto to watch early morning cartoons together. He has a loose arm around Adam’s shoulders, playing with his hair, and his other arm over Matthew, who is lying with his back against Ronan’s side, using him as a prop cushion. He feels warm and at peace, with two of his favourite people pressed in on either side, and he wonders if this is how Gansey feels in all the pictures he sends of him, Sargent, and Cheng.

*

Adam feels a little drained by the time they all break off for bed. He’s gotten so used to spending his time alone before Ronan, he forgot what it was like to spend a whole evening socialising. He’s happy, though. Matthew is the exact bundle of joy Ronan described him as, and Adam’s glad they seem to get along. Declan is also just as _Declan_ as Ronan described him, and Adam’s lower lip is a little raw from how hard he’s had to bite not to laugh every time Declan offered a _Declanism_ that Ronan had previously mockingly quoted to Adam.

Ronan comes up behind him as he’s changing for bed, and presses a kiss to a tense muscle in Adam’s shoulder. He lifts a hand and works his thumb into the knot. Adam moans softly, head tipping back against Ronan’s shoulder. Ronan raises a brow, then works his thumb into the knot again. Adam clamps his lips shut to try and quiet his sound. 

“Ronan.”

“Adam.”

“Your brothers are across the hall.”

“So? We’re not doing anything indecent.”

“I am going to sound very indecent if you keep doing that.”

Ronan huffs a laugh, but he shifts his hand away and presses another kiss.

“You’ll have to let me rub your shoulders out when they leave. You’re nothing but knots.”

“I mean, I won’t complain.”

He and Ronan lie face to face in bed, their legs tangled. It’s strange to think there’s other people in this house, and Adam wonders if it’s stranger to Ronan when they’re not here. 

“Matthew’s very funny,” he says.

“Yeah. Think he got all the personality out of the three of us.”

“Mm. I disagree with that.”

“He got most of the personality. I got the leftovers.”

“Declan got none?”

“Nope.”

Adam giggles and shuffles closer to trade smiley kisses with Ronan.

“He’s not that bad.”

“No, but he’s my big brother, so I get to give him shit. That’s why I have to let Matthew know I’m cool. So he won’t ever do the same to me.”

“Right. Gotcha. I’m glad I got to meet them.”

“Yeah.” Ronan smiles. He raises Adam’s knuckles to his lips and kisses them, then he brings Adam’s fingertips to his lips and kisses them. Adam’s fingers drift over Ronan’s lower lip. Ronan licks them.

“Behave,” Adam says, and flicks his nose.

“I hate behaving.”

They kiss themselves sleepy, and Adam ends up with his back to Ronan’s chest, Ronan’s arm looped around his waist. He can feel each of Ronan’s breaths against the back of his neck, feel the rise and fall of his chest. The rhythm lulls Adam to sleep.

*

Ronan comes up from helping Matthew wash the breakfast dishes to find Adam straightening his tie. Ronan pauses in the doorway, dragging his gaze down over Adam. He looks incredibly handsome and put together. Ronan stares, his forearms still damp with dishwater. 

“Hey,” Adam says, catching sight of Ronan in the mirror. 

“Hey.” Ronan’s voice is thick and he clears his throat before crossing to Adam. He’s almost afraid to touch him. Afraid to sully the crisp lines of his suit.

“What’s that look for?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“You look good.”

“Thank you,” Adam says, in the automatic, dismissive way he brushes compliments aside. Ronan slides his hands beneath Adam’s suit jacket and squeezes his hips. Adam turns his gaze from the mirror to look at Ronan.

“You look _hot_ ,” Ronan clarifies. Adam’s smile softens into something shyer, and he leans in to kiss Ronan. Adam’s aiming for light, but Ronan kisses back with hunger until Matthew bangs the door open behind them.

“Ronan- oh, ew- I mean, sorry!”

Adam huffs a laugh against Ronan as they shift apart. 

“What?” Ronan asks.

“Declan says he’s driving so I just wanted to call shotgun but I thought that would be okay anyway since you’d want to sit beside Adam in the back.”

“Ugh. If Declan drives it’s going to take us an hour to get there.”

“Hey, he said it. I’m just getting my shotgun dibs.”

“We can drive separately.”

“There’s no point taking two cars just to go into town, Ronan.” Declan appears behind Matthew. Ronan sees his approving glance towards Adam’s attire, and as much as he really, _really_ doesn’t want to care about Declan’s approval, he feels a happy glow at seeing it anyway. 

“Then we’ll go in my car.”

“You’re a bad example for Matthew.”

“I’m not,” Ronan says, at the same time Matthew says: “He’s not!”

Declan’s face makes a specific, crumpled expression that is his default expression to being teamed up on by his brothers. There’s always a brief flash of pain that even with all the time he spends taking care of Matthew, he still sides with Ronan. Then it’s gone. Carefully sculpted back into a perfectly pleasant but otherwise neutral expression.

“Fine. You drive, then.”

“Shotgun!” Matthew says. “Sorry Adam.”

“Matthew-“ Ronan starts, but Adam holds a hand up.

“Ronan. Honour the sacred rite of shotgun. I can sit in the back.”

“Yessss!” Matthew does a little air punch, then Declan puts a hand on his shoulder.

“You need to get changed or we’re going to be late.” He steers Matthew away towards his room and Ronan looks at Adam.

“You don’t have to suffer Declan. Matthew won’t really mind.”

“It’s fine. Honestly.”

Ronan makes a vague grumbling noise, but goes to get dressed. He looks over his shoulder at Adam, so sharp and handsome, and back to his wardrobe. He knows Declan is going to give him shit, but this isn’t about him. Ronan digs out one of his seldom worn dress shirts.

*

When they gather in the front hall, three Lynch brothers and Adam, Declan does a double take at Ronan, dressed in a shirt with the top few buttons open, the sleeves rolled up, and a pair of slacks. He raises his eyebrows. Adam sees the line of Ronan’s shoulders tense and slips his hand into his. He squeezes, and Ronan relaxes. Declan doesn’t say anything, but he and Ronan seem to have some silent exchange with their eyes over Matthew’s head.

“So you’ve never been to mass?” Matthew asks Adam as they head towards the car.

“No.”

“Wow. I can’t remember ever not going to mass. Even when I was little and used to climb over all the pews.”

“You were a terror,” Ronan says. 

“Psh. You were far worse,” Declan says. “Neither ma or dad could get you to sit still. He and Matthew would play act out whole games, fake shooting each other while the priest was preparing communion. Such an embarrassment.”

“Sounds like kids, to me,” Adam says, even though when he was rowdy as a child he usually got beat into silence. Declan’s expression pinches tight again as he realises it’s now going to be three on one rather than two on one. 

Adam sits behind Ronan as they drive. Declan doesn’t really speak to him, typing away on his phone. Usually Ronan keeps the car quieter when Adam’s in it, but today he lets Matthew take over the music. Matthew puts his window down and puts on a loud song that, from all Adam can pick up, is a squash murder song.

“Squash one, squash two!” Matthew and Ronan yell along with the song. Declan winces slightly. Adam turns his head towards his window to hide a secretive smile. Their family dynamic is foreign to him. He’s an outsider observing a culture that is not his. There is no way he can understand the bonds between them, but it’s still so apparent to him that they’re there. That Ronan loves Matthew so fiercely and evidently. That despite his mocking and complaints about Declan, the same protectiveness and loyalty stretches to him.

He understands, a little more, Ronan’s confused loyalty to Kavinsky despite their disagreements. 

Adam doesn’t know why he’s surprised at the full carpark when they arrive. He knows, objectively, plenty of people are religious, but seeing it in practice is something else. That so many people give up their Sunday morning to this. He’s also surprised at how many people stop the brothers to greet them. Matthew’s curls are fluffed up from all the hair pets, Declan’s face is glued into a practiced, charming smile, and even Ronan’s usual icy expression melts a little as he nods back greetings. Avery gives them both a wave from near the front and Adam waves back with a smile. 

Adam bypasses blessing himself with the holy water at the door. He’s here as a spectator, and while he respects their beliefs, he feels trying to partake in that kind of way would be a mockery. A replication with no meaning behind it. He watches the brothers genuflect at the edge of the pew and is bemused by how many small ceremonies take place before they even get to sit.

The inside of the chapel is a large, open room with a high reaching ceiling. The pale walls and simple statues seem plain and modest, which is contrasted by the gold of the tabernacle, the three large chandeliers hanging down the centre line of the roof, the intricate art of the stained glass windows. It looks very much like wealth trying to disguise itself as modesty. As someone constantly trying to do the opposite, Adam feels stiff and out of place.

He doesn’t know the words to most of the prayers, so he doesn’t try to mouth along. Just listens to the murmur of voices speaking in time with the priest around him. Ronan has his head bowed. His brow is furrowed. He looks serious and contemplative. He looks like a Ronan Adam has never seen. His lips move slightly ahead of the priest, but Adam can barely make out the words. He can hear Matthew from the other side of Ronan though, who seems determined to let everyone know _he_ knows the words. Adam bites back a smile.

As the mass proceeds, he fails to adapt to the rhythm or sense of it. The priest shifts between stories that are seemingly unconnected. The people move like yo-yos; stand, sit, kneel, sit, stand, kneel, repeat. Adam has to keep watching Ronan for cues on when to move, and considering the large amount of elderly people here, he doesn’t understand why it involves so much standing and kneeling. He stays seated when the brothers rise for communion, and then feels awkward as other members of the congregation clamour past him on the pew.

It is certainly an experience, but not one he'd be eager to repeat. Ronan meets his gaze when he slides back into the pew past Adam. He must see something of his discomfort in his expression, because when he sits and clasps his hands together in prayer again, he has Adam’s hand between his palms.

*

Adam Parrish in a suit is a threat to the purity of Ronan’s thoughts. He tries so hard not to think of Adam as he focuses on praying, but in the stretches where the priest speaks, his old voice a rattling murmur that is easy to zone out during, he can think of nothing else. When he kneels, his traitorous brain just supplies him with images of Adam making him kneel before him. Adam looking so clean and put together while he reduces Ronan to a whimpering mess. Every time he sits and feels the heat of Adam’s thigh against his, he wants to feel more. 

As he slides back past Adam on the pew, subtly trying to peel the communion wafer stuck to the roof of his mouth away with his tongue, he realises that in not looking at Adam he’s not noticed his expression. He looks guarded, the kind of retreating inside himself expression Adam gets when he feels out of his depth. Ronan knew he wasn’t religious, but the experience is so familiar to him he never considered how foreign this might be to Adam. He takes his hand between his when he sits again, trying to be the anchor Adam always is for him.

*

Matthew has been hugging him for at least thirty seconds. When it comes to saying goodbye, Ronan is quite sure Matthew could hug him for an hour and it still wouldn’t feel like enough. He squeezes him close and lifts him, turning him in his arms, before he sets him down again. 

“Alright, you’d better not keep Declan waiting any longer.”

“Boo,” Matthew says. Ronan relates deeply. “Oh, alright. Bye Adam. Tell Chainsaw I said bye.”

“Will do,” Ronan says. He fist bumps Matthew and then watches him run around and climb into Declan’s car.

“See you in a few weeks,” Declan says out the window. Ronan nods. He slaps the roof of the car. Declan looks irritated, but doesn’t want to sully their goodbye. Ronan knew he wouldn’t. He grins. Matthew leans forward to wave around Declan.

Adam comes to Ronan’s side and they both wave Declan and Matthew off. He’s taken his jacket off and loosened his tie by now. He looks relaxed and happy in the warm glow of the late evening sun. 

Declan’s car is barely out of sight before Ronan grabs the tie and pulls Adam towards him. Adam laughs against his mouth.

“Overeager.”

“Been wanting to kiss you all day,” Ronan says. “Among other things.”

“Among other things, hm?”

Adam’s back hits the front door, Ronan’s body pressing warm and solid against him. He moans against Ronan’s mouth as Ronan fumbles for the door handle. They stumble through the door laughing when it opens behind them. Adam pushes Ronan to the wall of the hall, hand around the back of his neck to pull him down. He bites Ronan’s lower lip, and Ronan crouches and catches Adam behind the thighs. Adam yells as Ronan lifts him, arms going around his shoulders.

“Put me down. You’re gonna drop me.”

“I’m not gonna drop you,” Ronan says. He shifts Adam up above his hips, then settles his hands high on the backs of his thighs and starts to climb the stairs.

“Oh my god,” Adam says.

“Blasphemy, on this, the day of our Lord!” Ronan wears mock outrage until Adam bites his ear. His arms quiver with the sensation and Adam’s legs tighten around him. 

“You are going to drop me.”

“If you keep doing that, I might.”

Despite his concerns, Adam _does_ keep doing that. Ronan growls, staggering up the last few stairs and kicking open the door to his bedroom. He carries Adam across and spills him out on the bed. Adam looks very pleased with himself.

“You are such a menace,” Ronan says, kicking off his shoes and crawling over Adam. 

“Mm, I just like riling you up.” Adam’s hands go to Ronan’s head, smooth along the shape of it and down his neck, fingers gliding beneath his collar to splay over his shoulders. “You talk about my back. You’re all knots as well.”

“That’s right. I think I promised you a back rub,” Ronan says, loosening Adam’s tie and undoing a few buttons on his shirt so he can get at his collarbone. He bites down around the bone, grinding his teeth lightly as he sucks a bruise.

“Oh, fuck.” Adam arches against Ronan’s mouth, nails scratching over his shoulders. 

“Take this off,” Ronan says, tugging his shirt. “Before i tear it off.”

“Jesus, Ronan.” Adam’s gaze is glassy as he looks up at Ronan. Ronan arches a brow, and gives the shirt another tug before he sits back on his heels to unbutton his own. He’s never seen Adam undress as quickly. 

“Roll over,” Ronan says. 

“Wait, are you really going to give me a back rub?”

“Yeah.”

“You got me all horny and now you’re gonna deny me? Tease.”

“Consider it foreplay. Down.” Ronan pushes him down on the bed and straddles Adam’s hips. He starts with his hands on Adam’s shoulder and works his thumbs into them. Despite his words, Adam instantly relaxes against his touch, sighing in contentment as Ronan works the stiff muscles of his shoulders. He hisses or moans or arches whenever Ronan hits a particularly tight spot, and every sound goes straight to Ronan’s cock.

“Ow, fuck, owow _ow_.”

“Too much?” Ronan pauses, lifting his hands.

“Just a sore patch. Probably needs it though.” He hisses when Ronan tenderly works the spot again. 

“I can stop.”

“No. It’s a good kind of pain.”

“Oh. That how it is, Parrish?”

“Wha-? Oh. _Oh._ Ah.” Adam shifts beneath him slightly as Ronan works the aching muscle. “Maybe it is.”

Ronan grins even though Adam can’t see it, sharp and predatory. He leans down and bites into one of Adam’s shoulders as he works his thumbs into the muscle hard. Adam keens and tenses beneath him, then his body sags against the bed with a quiet moan. He feels Adam’s hips shift beneath him, pressing into the bed. 

Ronan goes back to his massage like nothing happened. He finishes working his way down Adam’s spine, palms resting against his ass as he circles his thumbs into Adam’s low back.

“Feel better?”

“Yeah, actually. A little tender, but looser.”

Ronan dots a line of kisses back up Adam’s spine, then shifts to lie beside him. Adam turns his head to look at Ronan through strands of his hair. Ronan brushes them aside softly. Adam smiles, then he takes Ronan’s wrist and in one fluid movement, pounces over him and pins the wrist to the bed. Ronan blinks, and Adam does the same with his other wrist. Ronan tests his grip. It’s firm, but Ronan could probably break if if he really wanted. He doesn’t. 

“You’ve been such a tease,” Adam says, grinding against Ronan. Ronan bites his lower lip and juts his chin up defiantly. 

“What are you going to do about it?”

Adam kisses him. Ronan grins into the kiss, until Adam catches his lower lip between his teeth and gives it a sharp tug. Ronan moans, and Adam uses it as opportunity to slide his tongue into Ronan’s mouth. He kisses him like he’s claiming him, and Ronan submits willingly, melting against the sheets beneath the heat of Adam’s kisses. 

“What do you want me to do about?” Adam asks when he draws back. His voice is infuriatingly steady considering Ronan is breathless. 

“Fuck me,” Ronan says. Adam’s grip goes slack on his wrists.

“Wait- Really?”

“Yes.”

“Is this just your dick talking, because I think that’s a conversation we should probably have.”

“Open the second drawer,” Ronan says. Adam let’s go of him to lean across and tug the second drawer open. There’s condoms and lube in it. “It’s all of me talking. I want to, if you do.”

“I do,” Adam says, a hungry expression on his face as he takes out the lube. He turns the bottle in his hand, then looks back towards Ronan. “And you want me to top?”

“Yes. Did you imagine it differently?”

“Ha. Well. Imagine…” Adam ducks his head, a little sheepish. “Doesn’t mean I thought you’d actually want it that way.”

“I do.”

Adam kisses him hard, but softens it into lingering, tender kisses as he opens Ronan’s trousers. Ronan shifts to the edge of the bed and undresses. When he looks back, Adam has done the same on the other side. Ronan is not sure he will ever get used to seeing all the sweet lines and planes of Adam’s skin; the expanses of skin sprinkled with freckle constellations, the faded memories of old scars, the moles on the back of his left shoulder, the inside of his right elbow, hidden in the crease of his right knee. Seeing him laid bare like that always feels like something precious Ronan shouldn’t be worthy of.

“Well… you wanna get comfortable?” Adam has his phone out. Ronan’s brow furrows in confusion.

“What are you doing?”

“Googling.”

“Googling?”

“Well, I haven’t done this before. I want to do it right. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Oh my god, Adam.”

“Shut up. I’m sure your ass will thank me later.”

Ronan flops onto his back on the bed, an arm thrown over his eyes as his body shakes with laughter. He feels Adam poke his side sharply but it only makes him laugh harder.

“Shut up! You’re such a dick. It says here we should be working you up.”

“I’ve already done that.”

“You’ve already- what?”

Ronan leans over and pulls the third drawer out, where there’s a few different sized toys. Adam’s jaw is slack as he looks between them. Shocked first, then eyes narrowing with arousal.

“I did my research _before_ hand,” Ronan says, grinning. “We should be good.”

“You just keep surprising me,” Adam says, voice soft and affectionate as he trails his fingers down Ronan’s cheek to his chin. Ronan takes Adam’s wrist and moves his fingers to his mouth, sucking two of them in. He circles his tongue around his fingertips, then pushes it between them. He hollows his cheeks and sucks. Adam’s eyes close briefly.

“Alright. Give me one of those pillows. It’s better if we prop your hips up.” Once Adam gets Ronan comfortable, he kneels beneath his spread legs and squirts lube onto his hand. “Ah. It’s colder than I was expecting.”

Ronan snorts. Adam pinches the soft flesh of his thigh. Ronan squeezes him between his legs. Adam smacks them open again and rubs his lubed up fingers together until they warm up slightly. Ronan watches his expression, intense with concentration, with a mixture of amusement and adoration. 

“Ready?” Adam says. Ronan nods. Adam leans down to kiss him, and gently presses a finger against him. He eases it in, but it still feels so weird and foreign to have someone else stretching him. “Tell me if you need me to slow down.

“You’re going as slow as Declan drives right now.”

“Please don’t mention your brother while I’m fingering your ass.”

“Fair.” Ronan pulls Adam down for another kiss, focusing on that, keeping his body relaxed as Adam presses his finger right the way in. Ronan’s lashes flutter, thinking of Adam’s pretty, elegant, long finger inside him. Adam takes his time working Ronan with one finger, even when Ronan tries to encourage him for more.

“Patience,” Adam says. He mouths at Ronan’s throat, and Ronan scratches lightly at his back. Eventually, he eases a second finger in. “Still okay?”

“Mhm.” Ronan pulls him back up to kiss, starting to feel feverish and light headed with arousal. Adam isn’t really focused on the kiss. When Ronan draws back, Adam’s tongue pokes between his teeth in concentration. “What are you- _oh_.”

“Found it.” Adam smirks, and it is downright sinful looking, as Ronan’s body jerks beneath him. He curls his fingers and presses them against Ronan’s prostate again. Ronan moans, helpless, clutching Adam’s shoulders tight. “That good?”

“Fuck yeah.” 

Adam works him like that for a while. Easing his fingers out, then pressing them back in and rubbing against Ronan’s prostate. He starts a steady rhythm and Ronan swears softly. He mouths at Adam’s shoulder, wanting to give something back for the building pleasure he’s giving him. 

“Thing you can take another one?”

“Uh huh.” 

Adam puts more lube on his hand. He presses their foreheads together, staring a little crossed eyed into Ronan’s eyes as he presses three of his fingers together and eases them in. Ronan’s eyes want to shut against the sensation but he forces them open, not wanting to lose sight of Adam.

“I love you,” Adam says, quiet, soft. Not words they use often, but words spoken in so many gestures between them. Ronan smiles and kisses Adam sweetly.

“I love you.” 

“I’m really glad we met. Sorry I thought you were a dick at first.”

“That’s- mm, ah- okay. Happens a lot.”

Adam snorts and nuzzles against Ronan’s cheek. Ronan pushes a hand through Adam’s hair and holds it loosely, until Adam shifts his wrist at a certain angle and Ronan pulls without thinking. It surprises a moan out of Adam. Their eyes meet. Ronan tugs again. Adam hisses and presses his fingers firmly against his prostate. Ronan whimpers and arches his hips from the bed. He catalogues Adam’s reaction to hair pulling away for later use. 

“Think I’m good now.”

“Are you sure?” Adam frowns at him. “You keep rushing me.”

Ronan shifts his hips a little, fucking himself down against Adam’s fingers.

“Feels alright.”

“You stop me if it hurts, Ronan.”

“Just fuck me already.”

“This is very much not good boy behaviour.”

“Yeah, it doesn’t really do anything when you reverse it.”

“Damn.” Adam struggles to open one of the condom packets with his lube slick fingers, so Ronan opens one for him. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

“Well, I hope it’s both our pleasures.” Adam rolls it on and liberally lubricates his cock. He shifts one of Ronan’s legs up over his hip. “Is this position okay, or do you wanna-?”

“No. Want to look at you.”

“No homo.”

“ _Full_ homo, bro.” 

Adam laughs and takes Ronan’s hand with his clean one. Ronan kisses his knuckles, then looks back at Adam and nods. Adam lines up and starts to ease in slowly. Ronan watches his expression; the flutter of his lashes, the part of his lips, his soft exhale of breath.

“Fuck, Ronan. You felt tight around my fingers, but- God. You feel okay? Need me to go slower.”

“No.”

“Sure?”

Ronan sighs and tightens his leg around Adam’s hips, using it to pull him closer. They both moan as he sinks in further. Adam squeezes Ronan’s hand.

“Hey!”

“You were taking too long.”

“I was being careful.” Adam exhales a frustrated huff through his nose, before shifting his hips and gently easing the rest of the way into Ronan. Their hips are flush together. Ronan feels Adam against him, above him, pressing down on his palm, inside of him. He smiles and arches up to steal a kiss. 

It doesn’t feel like much at first when Adam starts to move. Still being cautious, though Ronan can tell by his taut muscles that he’s holding back. That he wants to move faster. Ronan rocks back against him and Adam exhales all in a rush.

“Ronan.” He presses kisses to the corner of Ronan’s mouth, over his cheeks, to each of his eyelids. When he comes back to Ronan’s lips they kiss open mouthed, slow and languid. Adam starts to rock his hips, and Ronan starts to feel a little more.

Adam shifts back slightly and braces himself with arms on either side of Ronan. His hair is sticking to his forehead with sweat. His brow is furrowed with concentrated effort as he starts to build pace. Ronan’s brain starts to go hazy with the pleasure. He watches Adam from eyes narrowed into slits, fighting against closing them so he doesn’t miss Adam’s expressions. The way he bites his lip as he stifles a whimper. The taut line of his neck as his head arches back.

Then Adam changes the angle, and Ronan’s brain crackles like white noise and static. He grasps at Adam’s biceps and Adam grins in victory. He focuses on fucking Ronan in the same spot. He doesn’t always get it, but it’s enough to have Ronan clutching Adam as he moans, ragged and desperate.

“Adam, Adam, Adam.” Ronan repeats his name like a plea, like a prayer. He thinks of the Ronan that has wanted to die so many times, and how if he had he’d have never got to experience this, or Adam, or what it feels like to be so utterly in love. He thinks that there must be a God that kept him here knowing he’d have this coming. Then Adam thrusts into him again and he thinks of nothing but sensation, of Adam’s laboured breathing above him, the flex of Adam’s muscles, the heat of his body over Ronan’s.

Adam drops to one of his elbows and reaches his free hand between them. His pace slows slightly from the angle change, but his hand on Ronan’s cock more than makes up for it.

“I’m getting close, Ronan. Are you?”

“Fuck, yes, fuck, _Adam_.”

“I’m here. I’m gonna take care of you. You’ve been so good, Ronan. So good for me, so I’m gonna be good to you, baby.” 

Ronan makes a high noise and presses up onto his elbows so he can kiss Adam; desperate, hungry, worshiping. His leg tightens around Adam’s hips as he comes, body tightening around him. Ronan falls back onto the bed, moaning helplessly. Adam strokes him through it until he whines with sensitivity. He shifts his hand away and fucks into Ronan a few more times, before he comes himself with a soft swear. 

Adam’s shaky arms struggle to hold him up, but he eases himself out slow. Ronan makes a soft sound at the sensation, but otherwise just watches him. Adam gets rid of the condom and disappears from the room. Ronan starts to sit up, confused, before he comes back with a towel that he’s wet the edge of.

Somehow, it feels much more intimate and vulnerable to have Adam clean him up in the aftermath than it did to actually have sex with him. Ronan’s instincts want him to coil tight and defensive away from that vulnerability, but he doesn’t, refuses to shy away. Not from Adam. Adam is gentle but thorough, and he starts to rise to return the towel when he’s done. Ronan grabs him by the wrist and pulls him back down, tossing the towel to the floor.

“Can wait until later,” he says. Adam smiles. He strokes Ronan’s cheek and kisses him softly.

“You doing okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” Adam shifts Ronan to get the duvet from under him, then climbs under it with Ronan and pulls him to his chest. Ronan tangles their legs and presses his face to Adam’s throat as Adam strokes over his head and down his back. “Everything feel okay?”

“More than okay,” Ronan says. He kisses the base of Adam’s throat, and Adam kisses the top of his head. Ronan settles his head to Adam’s chest and falls asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.

*

Adam’s alarm wakes them both in the morning. Ronan makes him breakfast, and kisses him goodbye before Adam leaves earlier to open the store. He does his morning rounds, feeds Chainsaw, and has a shower before he heads in himself.

Swan is curled up in Skov’s lap at the front desk. Their head is resting against his shoulder and they look half asleep, but their eyes flicker open when Skov says good morning to him.

“Lynch,” they say, but their eyes are saying more. Ronan’s gaze flicks behind them for any sign of Kavinsky or Proko lingering. “He’s not in yet.”

“Right.” Ronan pushes the opening of the counter up. Part of him wants to ask how Kavinsky is, but a larger part wants to look like he doesn’t give a fuck.

“It was a bad weekend,” Skov answers his unasked questions. Now that he’s closer, Ronan can see they both look exhausted. More so than usual. The shadows beneath their eyes darker. Both of their necks are littered in dark bruises; only some of which look like hickeys. He can see some bruising on Swan’s wrist where their hoody sleeves have slid back. When they see him looking, they tug the sleeves over their hands.

“Yeah, it looks it.”

“This isn’t much,” Swan says. Quiet. The Welsh lilt of their original accent poking through. Ronan’s fist clenches tight and hot. 

“You shouldn’t let him do that to you.”

“That’s our choice,” Skov says.

“And we do let him, Ronan. None of this was forced on us,” Swan adds. They press their face to Skov’s shoulder to stifle a yawn. Skov’s hand is spread against their back, and he gives it a slow rub. Ronan doesn’t know how they watch Kavinsky do this to each other. Even the thought of someone touching Adam with such vicious intent has him bristling with anger.

“He needed it.” Swan’s voice is so quiet that Ronan almost doesn’t catch the words. It’s less what they say and more the soft certainty of their voice that throws Ronan. The implication that if breaking them down is what Kavinsky needs to survive, they’ll take it without complaint. Skov gives a minuscule nod of agreement and presses his lips to Swan’s temple.

“I don’t understand you,” Ronan says. He’s angry. Despite his best efforts, somehow they’ve slipped beneath his defenses and into his affections, and seeing them hurt makes his insides burn. 

“Oh, we all know that. That’s why we never push you further than you’re willing to go. We’re a lot alike, but you’ve never clicked into the pack dynamic.”

“I don’t want to.”

“We’re glad you had the choice,” Skov says, smiling warmly at him. “We like having you around.”

Ronan makes a gag noise and flips them off, but then he goes and brings them back their drink orders, and he gets them right. 

*

Adam’s surprised when Ronan shows up several hours earlier than usual.

“I don’t have any evening appointments. Thought I could keep painting the bedroom since I’m not doing anything in work anyway,” Ronan says. 

“Sure. Let me just-“ Adam twists the key off his key fob and gives it to Ronan. He’s getting better at not pushing back against Ronan helping him. It’s not always easy, but he knows that Ronan doing things for him doesn’t come from a place of pity.

The thought of Ronan in his bedroom distracts him through the rest of his shift, which seems to stretch forever. He even considers closing early a few times when it’s not busy, but keeps himself focused by making up online orders. When it’s finally time to close, he locks up and jogs up the stairs.

“Honey, I’m home,” Adam calls. When he gets no response he leaves his shoes by the door and pads in his socks to the bedroom. Ronan has headphones on, which explains the lack of response, and is crouched down with focus as he paints. Adam’s lips press together and he inhales slow as he takes it in.

Ronan must have brought his own paints. He’s finished the base coat and has started a border of flowers that come up to Adam’s knees, pretty and blossoming, dark detail lines making them a bold statement against the plain backdrop. Adam feels the hot sting of tears at his eyes, and oh, how rare it is that that feeling is associated with happiness. He presses a palm to his eye to push it back, then goes to put a hand on Ronan’s shoulder.

Ronan looks up with a smile at first, then wary, like a child caught drawing on wallpaper with a crayon. He sets his paintbrush down and slowly removes his headphones.

“Ronan. It’s beautiful.”

“You like it?”

“I love it.” Adam drags Ronan up by the front of his shirt and kisses him hard. “It‘s- You’re so- I love it.”

“Don’t think I’ve ever heard you struggle for words, Parrish,” Ronan says with a grin. 

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

And Adam does.

*

It’s over a week from their conversation that Ronan actually sees Kavinsky again. Prokopenko is at his shoulder, lip raised in a half snarl when he sees Ronan. Ronan ignores him and looks at Kavinsky’s face, trying to find a sense of footing in their constantly shifting and unstable dynamic.

“Lynch,” Kavinsky says. His voice is hoarse, raw. He looks very small; sitting on the counter with his shoulders slumped forward. Ronan can see scratch and bite marks on his shoulders and neck. Proko curls his arms around Kavinsky and presses against his side. Kavinsky drags his fingers through Proko’s hair. 

“K,” Ronan says, cautious. Kavinsky gives a little nod, and Ronan steps past them. The last he sees before he closes his door is Kavinsky pressing his face into Proko’s hair, his hands clutching Proko’s hoody in a white knuckled grip.

*

The atmosphere in work is tense for a few weeks, but gradually it eases. Ronan is glad he has Adam to fill his evenings with and that he’s not just stirring over his thoughts constantly. Kavinsky throws him sparse words here and there, and Ronan, already sparse with his words, says little in response.

He comes out one day to get a drink from their fridge and finds Proko already standing by it. Proko looks at him, then without a word lifts Ronan’s preferred drink and tosses it to him. It’s not quite an olive branch, but it might be a twig.

*

“You got any spaces this week?” Adam asks. They’re in Ronan’s bed, both naked and flushed after sex. Adam’s lying against Ronan’s chest, tracing the lines of his tattoos. Ronan blinks his eyes open.

“Need to check, but think I have one on Thursday. Why?”

“Can I have it?”

“Sure. What were you thinking?”

“A lotus flower. Just a little one. I love your sketch so much, I want another one I can carry around with me. Maybe above my hip?”

“I could do that. In colour, or-?”

“Well, I’ve been looking at some ideas, and I kind of like the ones that have- you know the dots and lines?”

“Mandala?”

“Yes! Those ones.”

“Okay. I’ll draw up a few sketch concepts and then I’ll detail whichever one you like best.”

“Sounds good. Looking forward to losing my tattoo virginity.”

“I would say I’ll be gentle, but it’s still going to sting.”

“I’m a big boy. I think I can handle it.” 

“I have had some very big boys reduced to tears in my chair,” Ronan says. “But I believe in you.” 

He brings over a page full of sketches after work the next day, and Adam pours over them for a while before settling on one. They watch bad reality tv as Ronan works on drawing up a more detailed version, and Adam works on decorating his flower boxes.

“What do you think?” Ronan shows him the drawing, and Adam smiles brightly. It’s exactly what he wanted. Bold lines, but still delicate. The shape of the flower itself so real and beautiful, but the pattern of dots and lines give it an extra dimension.

“It’s perfect,” Adam says, and leans across to kiss Ronan.

*

Adam hasn’t been in the parlour since he asked Ronan to lunch. Usually Ronan comes to him. He knows he’s been the cause of a lot of tension between Ronan and his coworkers, but in a weird, detached way. He’s never been impacted by it. As he prepares himself to step through the door, he feels it, though. Muscles tightening with anticipation. 

Adam doesn’t recognise the man at the desk when he enters, which means he’s either Proko, or Kavinsky. Adam swallows and steels himself. He’s uncomfortable, but it’s an angry, raging kind of uncomfortable. It’s the heat of hatred beneath his skin, the itch in his palm begging for a curled fist, begging to lash out. It’s his father’s way of dealing with things and Adam tries to swallow it down. The man looks up slowly.

“Hello,” he says. He slowly lowers the white sunglasses he has on, and Adam can see now they were hiding a pretty nasty black eye. He aches to his core with the memory of familiar wounds, but no sympathy comes with it. Part of him wants to blacken the other eye.

“Hey,” he says, and his voice summons Ronan, who has his door propped open waiting for Adam. He steps to the doorway and glances between the two of them. Adam sees it as what it is; a quick assessment for damage control. There hasn’t been any. Yet.

“Adam. Come on in.”

“Adam,” the man repeats, brows raised. “So this is him.”

“K,” Ronan says, a warning note wrapped in one letter. Confirmation, then. This is Kavinsky.

“What, Ronan? I’m just saying hello. Just making conversation. That’s very fucking civil of me, I think. Don’t you, Adam?”

“Sure,” Adam says, flat and unconvinced. Ronan lifts the counter for him and Adam crosses to his side. Kavinsky slowly turns his chair so he can keep Adam in his sights. 

“You better be taking good care of my boy, Adam.”

“I take better care of _my_ boy than you ever did,” Adam says, and he sees Ronan close his eyes against his stupidity. He doesn’t care. Kavinsky’s had all the time in the world to talk shit behind his back. Adam’s entitled to his say.

Kavinsky’s body coils tense in the chair, then relaxes as he laughs. It’s loud and brash, and Ronan is still so stiff beside Adam with anticipation. 

“Yeah, okay. I get what he sees in you,” Kavinsky says, with another huff. He kicks his chair into a full circle spin. He lifts a stapler from the desk as he turns and twirls it in his hand. “But watch what that pretty mouth says about me. You don’t know shit about us.”

“Extend me the same courtesy and we’ll be fine,” Adam says. He meets Kavinsky’s gaze even though it sends ice down his spine. Kavinsky leans back in the chair, then springs forward and stands. Ronan half steps in front of Adam and squares his shoulders, but Kavinsky ignores him and extends a hand past him.

“Deal,” he says. It’s a challenge rather than a peace offering, but Adam rises to it. Kavinsky’s fingers are a shock of cold against his hand. His palm is clammy. He squeezes until Adam’s fingers ache. Adam squeezes back. “You should come to one of our shindigs sometime.”

Ronan’s hand lands firm on the back of Adam’s neck and steers him away and into his room. He closes the door behind them and exhales.

“I think that went well,” Adam says, ignoring the side glare Ronan gives him. 

“You’re spending too much time with me,” Ronan says.

“No. You’ve just never seen me lose my temper,” Adam says, patting Ronan’s cheek before he steps over to the chair. He’s wearing sweats so they’re easier to shift beneath his hip. Ronan presses a kiss to Adam’s hip bone before he disinfects the spot and puts the stencil on. 

“That look okay?”

“Looks perfect,” Adam says, as Ronan gets his gloves on and sets up his needles. 

“You comfortable?”

“Yeah,” Adam says, stretching out on his side. Ronan grins.

“You’re not going to be for much longer.”

It’s weird at first, but not as bad as Ronan made him think it would be. It’s like kitten claws. He relaxes and watches Ronan. He looks so similar to how he did in mass; head bowed, expression furrowed in concentration, all his focus on what he’s doing. He traces a finger along one of the Celtic patterns on Ronan’s head and Ronan gives a brief, absent smile without raising his head. 

It starts to get tender the longer Ronan works. Everytime he does a curve it feels like a blade dragging over Adam’s skin, and there’s an aching pressure when the needle gets near the bone of his hip. He presses his temple to his bicep and winces slightly.

“How’re you holding up?”

“Stings a bit now.”

“You need a break?”

“No. It’s sharp, but bearable.”

“Okay, but if you need a break, just say.”

“I have a high tolerance for pain,” Adam says. Ronan looks to him, and the implication of that statement hangs between them for a moment before Ronan goes back to work. 

“Yeah, well, if you need a breather.” That’s all he says, focusing in again on Adam’s hip. Adam takes out his phone and distracts himself responding to messages on his website. 

*

Someone lets themself in and Ronan stills. 

“Hey, Adam.” 

He relaxes at Swan’s voice.

“We’re busy in here,” Ronan says. 

“I was just bringing Adam some water. See you haven’t offered him any.” They hand Adam a bottle of water from the fridge.

“Thanks,” Adam says.

“Oh, that’s different for you, Ronan. Looks good though. First tattoo?”

“Yeah,” Adam says.

“You seem to be managing it well.”

“Are you done?” Ronan asks. 

“Ignore us,” Swan says, pulling up a chair beside Adam. “You never talk when you’re working. It’s like pulling teeth. I’m sure Adam won’t mind some company.”

“Adam doesn’t need you annoying him.”

“They can stay,” Adam says, and Ronan raises his brows at him.

“You sure?”

“Course he is. We’re gonna be besties and go on double dates.”

“What, with the whole fuckin’ pack? I don’t think so.”

“No. With Skov and I, obviously. We have no couple friends,” Swan directs the second part to Adam. “Well, maybe Proko and K now, I’m not sure what’s happening with them, but we’re also a thing so it’s not the _same_ as another couple, you know?”

“Wow. Kavinsky moves on quick,” Adam says.

“It’s more like moving back,” Swan says. They lean back in the chair and press their fingers together. “It’s complicated.”

“Yeah, I’m always hearing that about him,” Adam says. Swan laughs.

“I see why you and Ronan work. You’ve got the attitude to keep up with him.”

“Maybe he has to keep up with me,” Adam says. Ronan rolls his eyes, but the tension goes out of his shoulders. As much as he hates Swan invading on them, he understands. Swan is the bridge. They understand the pack dynamics and accept their place in it, but they want more. They wanted Skov, and now they want Adam and Ronan’s friendship.

Ronan listens to them rambling away to Adam. He always assumed the pack stayed tight knit within themselves because they thought they were superior, but hearing Swan’s rush of communication, he realises how isolating and lonely that must get. How restricting it must be to be limited under Kavinsky’s control. Ronan has always been so insistent to revolt against it, he never considered what it must be like inside.

Swan leaves half an hour before Ronan finishes up on Adam. The benefit of their presence was distracting Adam from the pain. Ronan can hear his sharp inhales every so often now, but he remains stubbornly still until Ronan’s finally done.

“Okay.” Ronan wipes away blood and ink so Adam can get a clear look of his tattoo. “All done.”

Adam stands and walks to the mirror to check it out. His fingers hover near it, but don’t touch.

“Huh,” he says. “This is part of me now.”

“Yep.”

“You created it, and now it’s part of me. That’s pretty cool.”

“Glad you like it.” Ronan smiles as he walks up behind Adam and looks at his work in the mirror.

“I love it. Thank you.”

Ronan places his hand on Adam’s stomach above the ink, leaning his head against Adam’s as he observes it. His art, but Adam’s choice. He thinks that means more than any brand.

“C’mon. Let’s get you wrapped up.”

*

“This isn’t the most romantic date night,” Adam says. He’s flushed from working. Has his sleeves pushed up over his elbows. It’s almost eight, but he and Ronan are still in the shop, trying to get on top of Adam’s orders.

“It’s okay. I’m with you.”

Adam smiles, then sighs, then leans his head into his hands for a moment, feeling exhausted.

“It’s just picked up so much these last few weeks. I mean, it’s good. Obviously, it’s good. It’s great. Fuck, I’m not complaining. It’s just. A lot.”

“Why don’t you look into getting some help?”

“What?” Adam automatically bristles at that. He looks up to catch Ronan shaking his head with a smirk.

“Hire some help,” he elaborates.

“I can’t afford-“ Adam cuts off. He’s so used to working himself into the ground just to make ends meet. He’s so used to handling everything himself. It’s a gut reaction, but with the increase in the volume of orders lately, he could afford help. Business has been good. Business has been getting better. “Oh. I guess I can, now.”

“Mhm.”

“I… I’ll think about it.”

*

He thinks about it a lot over the next few weeks. He still sees Ronan frequently since he always calls in on lunch and after work, but it feels like they have less time together. Adam’s always cramming work in, so he doesn’t want to be away from his supplies. The few nights Ronan does stay with him, he has to go home first to bring the animals in, and Adam feels guilty putting him through the journey. 

It would be good to have someone focusing on customer contact so he can just work on orders out the back. Depending on how he arranges the schedule, once he’s trained them up he could even take a couple of days off without closing the shop. The thought of leaving his shop, his pride and joy, the effort of all his work in someone else’s hands terrifies him, but he’s lived so long where all he does is work. He wants time to enjoy living now, as well. He wants time to spend with Ronan. 

Once he’s made up his mind, he writes out an ad, posts it online, and prepares for the new stress of finding the right person.

*

“How have your interviews been going?” Ronan asks. Adam sighs. “That bad?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t mind giving someone inexperienced a chance, because hell knows I struggled enough to get jobs when everyone was asking for two years experience, but no one seems genuinely interested in it, y’know? And while I appreciate that sometimes a job is just a job, I kind of want someone who…”

“Matches your passion?”

“Kind of. At least, has some of it.”

“Right.”

“Then I’ve had a few older people with experience, but I want someone who will listen to me and not think they know best. Also someone who might last a while and isn’t a few years away from retirement.”

“Bit presumptuous,” Ronan says.

“Well, all I’m going from is twenty minutes and their CV, which, I don’t believe half of these because I also lied on my CV.”

“Scandal.” 

“I just don’t want to pick someone and find out it’s not a good fit, y’know? I want us to get along.”

“You’ll find someone,” Ronan says.

“I hope so.”

*

**_I think I just found him._ **

_Told you._

*

Ronan comes over in the evening of Adam’s new employees' first day, curious to see who it is Adam ending up picking. When he walks in, there’s a blonde boy standing at the counter and sorting some flowers into a bouquet. He looks almost transparently pale in the evening light. He’s wearing an oversized sweater and there’s a dark smudge of a port-wine stain birthmark below his left eye. 

“Hello,” he says. His voice is lighter than Ronan expected, airier. “Can I help you with something?”

“Nah. You Adam’s new start?”

“Yes. I’m Noah. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Ronan.” He holds out his fist instead of his hand, and after marvelling at it for a moment, Noah knocks his knuckles against Ronan’s with a grin. 

“Oh, hey, Ronan.” Adam appears from the back. “You met Noah?”

“I have.”

“He’s been great already,” Adam says. Noah beams at the comment and for a moment reminds Ronan so much of Matthew he has a dizzy feeling of missing his brother. 

“So, you like flowers?” 

“I love flowers,” Noah says. He makes eye contact with Ronan, raises his hand to his mouth, and pops something into it. Ronan’s eyebrows raise.

“Did you just eat a fucking flower?” He stares at Noah, who stares back for a long moment, before popping the gum he’d actually slid into his mouth.

“No.”

Ronan likes him instantly. 

*

“He’s not the most professional, but he’s just got something, right? Some kind of charm. He showed up on a skateboard to the interview. It was- it shouldn’t have worked, but it just felt right.”

“I like him,” Ronan says, tracing the veins of Adam’s hand with his fingertips as he listens to him talk.

“I do, too. I know it’s only been a few days, but I think it might work? He’s a quick learner, and he’s good with customers. People seem to like him. Shit, he won you over. That feels big.”

Ronan huffs a laugh and raises Adam’s knuckles to his mouth. He dots kisses along them. 

“Thank you,” Adam says softly. “For telling me to get someone. I know I can be so stubborn sometimes-“

“Sometimes?”

“Shut up. But it was a good idea.”

“I’m full of those,” Ronan says.

“Care to share anymore?” Adam leans closer. Ronan grins, catching him with a hand under his jaw and pulling him forward to kiss him.

“I could do,” Ronan says. “Or I could show you.”

And he does. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will leave it there, because the more I write for this AU, the more ideas I have, and I could go on forever.
> 
> Just know that after their first year, Adam eventually moves into the Barns with Ronan. They end up turning his apartment into Ronan’s own studio, and he hires this kickass artist called Hennessy as his understudy.


End file.
